Like My Mirror Years Ago
by ArianaKristine
Summary: Emma Swan thinks she knows all about her past: her abandonment, her heartbreak. But a knock on her door one night begins to stir memories of something she could never completely forget.
1. Chapter 1

**Title** : Like My Mirror Years Ago  
aka The Prompt That Won't Be Written  
 **Rating** : T  
 **Summary** : Emma Swan thinks she knows all about her past: her abandonment, her heartbreak. But a knock on her door one night begins to stir memories of something she could never completely forget.  
 **Note** : A prompt from a long time ago that was never supposed to make it this far. I have no self-control, but only one chapter per POV will be posted just for appreciation week. Until it is complete, I won't post the rest. Probably.

* * *

The match hissed when she struck it, the faint orange glow brightening the blue star before she held it to its wick. She shook the stick and placed it to the side, her sea-colored eyes set on the glowing cupcake. She leaned down and rested her chin on crossed arms, regret tightening in her throat.

"Another banner year," she expelled more mournfully than bitterly. Her chest kept the breath and the wish it held tightly, before she exhaled in a sharp puff. Her lashes fluttered, and she swallowed, before a shaky sigh escaped.

She didn't expect the chime.

The look she gave the cupcake was almost accusatory. She straightened quickly, a frown on her lips as she made her way to the door on bare tip-toes. The lock clicked and she pulled the handle, searching at eye level before her gaze trailed down, finding the twinkling eyes of the young boy.

Something vaguely pulled at her, a tinge of familiarity in his face and expression. Her brow furrowed, confusion winning over the strange feeling. "Uh … can I help you?"

The boy was dressed for the weather, and his coat was tailored. He looked clean and well-nourished, and despite the fact that he was alone, he didn't have the look of a kid that was lost. He didn't fidget, but instead his eyes crinkled as _he_ assessed _her_. "Are you Emma Swan?"

"Yeah. Who are you?" she asked, even more perplexed.

His expression immediately changed, relief and happiness practically bubbling from him. His lips pressed together, and even though it didn't kill the smile in his eyes there was a nervous energy that emitted. "My name's Henry," he said steadily, then there was a small change in his gaze, the slightest insecurity. "I'm your son."

It didn't click. Her lips parted slightly, breath catching, but it didn't click in her brain. He didn't give her the chance to respond, and instead ducked under her arm and into her house. She shook her head as if to clear it. "Whoa, hey, kid. Kid! Kid!"

He didn't stop, only pushed further inside.

She huffed, and followed him, hands thrown up in exasperation. "I don't have a son! _Where_ are your parents?"

He turned back to look at her, green eyes steady as his hand trailed along the chair at the counter. His head cocked to the side, and his brow arched. "Ten years ago, did you give a baby up for adoption?"

All protests died in her throat, and she looked at him with new eyes. Slowly, she tried to breathe naturally, to not freak out. She looked over his features. No, it couldn't be. It was so long ago. He didn't look like Neal. His face, though … she could see what she saw every day in the mirror in his face.

He gave a partial shrug, suddenly losing a piece of the bravado that had colored his entrance. "That's me," he finished unnecessarily.

A sudden wave of nausea hit her, a panicky feeling climbing up her spine. She looked away, flashes of woods and crinkled eyes and things that didn't make sense, and she quickly looked back to the face of the kid. "Give me a minute," she said firmly, and locked herself away in the bathroom.

Once inside, she began to hyperventilate. She remembered a test in cold fingers, falling asleep counting kicks, a blue blanket and the way her head whiplashed away from the look of it.

She could throw up, she could cry, she could scream. But she didn't do any of it. The baby. _The_ _baby_.

A clatter sounded, the sound of bottles clanking into each other. "Hey, do you have any juice?"

She pressed her fingertips to the door separating them. Not a baby, she reminded herself, and not hers.

"Never mind, I found some!" he called.

She couldn't ignore him, the kid that barreled into her home. Carefully, she swallowed. This was not her kid. This was someone else's child. Someone who loved this kid, someone who could take care of him. Someone better equipped and better prepared and just plain _better_ than her.

She steeled herself and came out, finding him at the counter and drinking from the bottle. She forced herself not to lower her gaze, to think of how his eagerness reminded her of something. He looked up with a smile as if they were in the middle of a conversation. "You know, we should probably get going."

It was strange, looking into her green eyes made darker by the locks of brown hair. She crossed her arms in front of her, distancing herself. She put on the façade she used for … well, everyone as she addressed him. "Going where?"

"I want you to come home with me," he said with a grin.

"Okay, kid," she said sternly, and focused on getting to the phone. "I'm calling the cops."

"Then I'll tell them you kidnapped me," he said simply.

She clicked off the phone, and glared down at him. "And they'll believe you, because I'm your birth mother," she said. It felt strange, those words in her mouth. She wasn't someone's mother, and yet ….

He looked up with a sheepish smile. "Yep."

She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus on how manipulative he was being as opposed to how much he reminded her of her. Then, there was a rush of relief, and she let a small smile cross her face as she realized: _he was like her_. "You're not going to do that."

He gave a smug grin, one cheek dimpling. "Try me."

She straightened her shoulders, easily looking down at him as she gained the upper hand. "You're pretty good. But here's the thing: there's not a lot I'm great at in life. I have one skill. Let's call it a superpower. I can tell when anyone is lying. And you, kid? Are." She clicked the buttons on her phone purposefully.

"Wait." She looked up, finding his face crumpling and voice small. All the courage had zapped out of him, vulnerability and desperation now the only things visible. "Please don't call the cops. Please? Come home with me."

She deflated. His eyes were large and dark and she saw someone else in them, just for a moment. Perplexingly, it wasn't her and it wasn't Neal, but it made her heart tug all the same. "Where's home?" she finally acquiesced.

She couldn't believe she was letting this happen.

xxx

 _ **Eleven Years Ago**_

She didn't know _what_ happened.

One moment she was running from the convenience store, her pockets stuffed with food, and straight into traffic. She had found Neal counting his own stash across the street and was heading for him and the bug, and then she remembered seeing the flash of headlights. Then, there were the _other_ lights; the strange white spark that had enveloped her like a cloak.

Did she die?

She forced her eyes open, wide to the sky. It was dim, but clear. Tree branches arched into the cloudless evening.

She began to sit up, then groaned as her head swam. As she collapsed back down, she became aware of the feel of rocks and earth beneath her. The air was cool, but warmer than it had been a moment ago. It no longer felt like the wet, chilled Portland evening.

Her whole body ached, one throb from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. She decided that she couldn't be dead and still be in this much pain. Did she get hit, then thrown?

She took a breath and closed her eyes. Testingly, she rolled her ankles and wrists. Nothing felt broken. One large rock dug uncomfortably into her spine, and she rolled onto her side to ease the pressure. She was immediately met by the snout of a very large wolf.

Her eyes widened in fear, but the wolf didn't peel back its jowls to threaten her. Instead, it cocked its head to the side, studying her with profound curiosity.

A sharp whistle called its attention up, past her, and she followed the sound.

Someone stood a few paces away. Tall, thin, and covered in dirty furs with a bow slung over his shoulder, he stared at her with a look that mirrored the animal's exactly. She'd never seen someone dressed like that, at least not anywhere but old TV shows and movies.

"Who are you?" the boy asked, his tone rumbling with the growl that hadn't come from the beast. "How did you get here?"

Her eyes widened, and she looked around, finding herself in a thickly wooded area. This looked nothing like Portland. Or, at least, nothing like the side of Portland she had been in before she blacked out.

No one else was in sight, and she could only hear the breathing of the animal and the shift of the guy ahead of her, and for the first time she actually missed the companion she'd had for the past couple days. Now being separated, she could admit that having an older guy around all the time had kept her feeling pretty safe.

Now she was alone, with this guy who was armed and armed _strangely_. She felt a flash of fear, but she quickly buried it beneath bravado. "I don't have to tell you anything," she cut out. She scrambled to her feet, and the wolf edged a little closer. She stiffened in response.

"Don't look at him, look at me," the boy demanded. Sharply, she did so, narrowing her eyes in defiant challenge. "How did you get past us?"

"What? Where am I?" she replied. His eyes were dark, so she squared her shoulders. "I don't know what you mean."

"No one gets past us unnoticed. Unless you're a magic user," he said lowly, his voice underlying with a dangerous sort of threat. His fingers flicked along his side, across a leather pouch on his belt.

She tried not to think of what might be in there as a sort of panic climbed her. She obviously wasn't dealing with someone in their right mind. "A _magic_ user?"

He looked at her with slitted eyes. "Yeah, a magic user, now are you trying to tell me—" He stopped suddenly, his eyes turned up and away from her. They caught the moonlight in the dusk, murky blue stirring with alarm.

Her brow furrowed. "What—"

"Shh," he commanded, then darted forward to her.

He wrapped his arm around her and pressed against a tree, her back against his chest. She let out a muffled cry as his hand covered her mouth. Despite the fact that she had thought him thin and malnourished before, his grip was strong and she felt the hard cords of his muscles as she fruitlessly gripped his arms to yank him away. She had the realization that she had underestimated him, something she rarely did. Her fear was poignant, and she began to struggle in earnest.

"Quiet," he hissed.

She tried to elbow his side, kick out at his legs, but she couldn't find the leverage with him holding her so tight. Instead, she bit down on his palm as hard as she could. He let out a low grunt of pain, but only pressed it firmer against her mouth.

She felt the metallic taste hit her tongue and a wave of nausea overwhelmed her. Her body went cold and numb, though hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She gasped beneath his hand and he gave her a look of exasperation. "Keep it down," he said firmly.

Suddenly, a branch cracked in the distance and his grip tightened to bruising. All at once, the woods were filled with the clamor of heavy footsteps.

She turned wide eyes to watch his face. He was no longer paying attention to her, though his hold did not ease. His jaw worked up and down, his face stony. She felt a warm body plop next to her and looked down to find the wolf sitting with them, its hair on end.

"He's gotta be here somewhere," a voice slurred out.

She finally felt her body freeze, realizing that she wasn't being attacked by this boy. She was being _hid_.

The voice soon gave a figure to attach to it, a filthy man stumbling along. She sprung back into fight, trying to get out of his unyielding grip to alert the other of the strange boy holding her against her will.

That was, until a gleaming knife, longer than any she'd ever seen before, became apparent in the hands of the man she'd hoped to be her savior. He swayed drunkenly, the knife cutting through the air. He was joined by another three men with lanterns and more weapons, their faces sickeningly amused as they watched their companion.

"Mutt, where'ya at?" one of them said, and the other laughed.

"Little mongrel, c'mon out. Your share'll be too much for ya, anyhow."

The wolf was rigid, almost as much as the boy was. She could feel the snap of tension in the air, palpable in its heaviness.

"Gotcha!"

She felt her panic reach pinnacle and her body shook. Though the voice was much closer than she would have liked, it was still several trees away. A small rodent thrashed in the man's grasp, and he shoved the struggling thing into a burlap sack. A slam against the tree and the sack didn't move.

Her head collapsed back against the boy's shoulder, feeling both sickened and relieved. She calmed back to the hyperaware state, her gaze flashing over in black and white as her fear couldn't fully extinguish. It was then that she realized the boy was shaking, too.

"Not enough for the quota. We still need to find the kid."

"He'll put up a fight," one of them warned.

The first one, the one most obviously drunk, swiped around with a toothy grin that gleamed yellow and brown. "I'll ask nicely," he insisted, raising the blade in his hand.

Her gaze flashed to the boy's again, and she watched as his eyes closed briefly before opening up to the sky. His breath was coming in short pants, palm sweaty against her skin as the guffaws of the men resounded in the clearing.

He looked down at her as the voices faded further away, the insults becoming more grating as they failed to find him. Her entire body was uncoiling, even with this stranger holding her close. Together, they held eye contact until the forest was quiet once more.

His eyebrows rose with a quick nod, then looked to the left. When his eyes returned to hers, he shook his head. Slowly, she nodded her understanding and he carefully removed his hand from her mouth.

She spat thickly, getting the taste of his blood out of her mouth, and then swiped the sleeve of her jacket against her lips. He held out a flat hand, a reminder to keep quiet, and then yanked them in the other direction. The wolf snapped out at his ankles. He paused, then reassessed their route.

"This way," he said hoarsely. He took her wrist, pulling her along as they rushed through tree cover.

She found that she didn't have it in her to protest. Wherever she was, this boy who wasn't quite right in the head was her safest option.

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Guest Comments

 **Guest:** I'm glad you're interested! The flashback is supposed to be a _little_ confusing, but if you continue to have questions feel free to ask!

* * *

 **Note** : Present Graham has the benefit of Henry, so even when they aren't together, his emotions are muffled but there.

* * *

 _ **Chapter 2**_

* * *

 _ **Present**_

He was just tugging on his jacket, ready to go home, when the phone on the desk buzzed.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, irritation running through him. It was his personal line. Only one person called his personal line, and he just wasn't in the mood for that tonight.

He debated ignoring it, but he never could manage to do that. Just as much as his stomach churned, another part was ready and willing to bend to her every whim. With a sigh, he answered with a gruff, "Sheriff's Office."

"Sheriff, I need you at my house."

The formality didn't faze him. He was used to it by this point. Her tone was as cold as ever, sharp enough to demand that no protests be made. "When?" he asked, keeping the weariness out of his voice.

"Now."

That surprised him. He glanced at the clock to verify, but it was still just inching toward eight in the evening. "Now?" he asked, and almost kicked himself. She didn't like to repeat herself. "Of course, Madame Mayor. I'll be over directly."

"Good," she said abruptly, and the line went dead.

It was early, and he didn't believe in any possibility that Henry was asleep so soon. A small smile quirked his lips at the thought of seeing the boy. It would be a reprieve from his mother, in any sense.

He hesitated by the desk, running his hand over the papers on top. He'd promised to get him a more detailed map of town next time he'd see him.

Henry had not run away far the last time, and had been quickly found in the corner of his office. Graham had feigned he was missing for a good hour while he got the boy to talk to him for a bit. He had even managed to get a hard-earned smile or two out of him, and the promise of a map had made him light up from the inside. He had no idea why the simple thing caused so much excitement, but he yearned to see the solemn boy's face perk up again.

Especially since it had disappeared so quickly once Regina walked into the bullpen, whisking him away without a backwards glance.

He didn't think he could manage to slip it to him unnoticed this evening, but he pocketed the item anyway. Maybe he could leave it somewhere the lad would find it before she did.

The thoughts distracted him for a time while he finished closing up the office. By the time he got in his cruiser and started down the familiar streets, the resignation had set in again. It didn't used to feel this way, did it? Or had he always been so unhappy with the arrangement he had with the mayor?

He didn't have time to think about it when he pulled in. Regina's outline darkened her porch, backlit by the bright lights inside the home. Hands on hips, posture ramrod straight, but waiting for him. She never waited for him.

"Sheriff," she hissed once he got out. "Took you long enough."

His thumb looped into his belt, side-eyeing the woman in front of him. "I came as soon as I locked up the station," he said, and didn't press for answers even though everything in him wanted to. It was always hard to ask questions when she was around, his words faltering sometimes even before he could think them.

Her arms crossed in front of her, eyes filling with angry tears. "It's Henry. He's gone again."

He rocked back on his heels, surprised to see the clear emotion on her face. This wasn't unusual, Henry running away. In fact, it happened more often than not. He was sure he'd find him curled into the low beams of the playground castle, or tucked in the abandoned library.

However, this was the first time he was called to her home rather than just ordered to find her son. His brow furrowed, and he released a low breath. "I'm sure he's fine, Madame Mayor. I'll check the usual spots."

"You don't understand, it's been twe—" She stopped herself, blowing out a low breath. She shook her head. "Never mind that. I need you to check his room. I am convinced he's left town."

He stepped forward cautiously. No, it made more sense to search outside of the home, the woods, maybe. A protest jumped into his throat and died there, just as any protest did in her presence. Instead, he gave a stiff nod. "Right away."

He entered into the blinding light of the opulent room. He rested a hand at the frame of the staircase, looking back only a moment before ascending. A headache was brewing at the base of his skull, the bleach and linen smells cloying with unmistakable apple.

When he entered Henry's room, it was almost as if he could breathe again. The room was not the perfectly straightened and pristine order the rest of the manor remained in. Instead, it was the room of a young boy. Comics hung from the edge of his bed, the table lamp a little askew from a quick flick. The bed was made hastily, covers thrown messily to the top and sheets rumpled beneath. Discarded clothes were strewn across a chair, and his folders and books from class spilled against the desk.

He caught sight of one notebook titled 'James and the Giant Peach' and he finally found the comprehension. The lad skipped school. He remembered his nose firmly in the book this last week, and Henry had mentioned the book report due.

He tried to stem down the alarm he could feel climbing in his stomach, the worry for the boy that was one little bright spot in his monotonous life. He felt a growl start in his chest, wondering just how long he had been missing before Regina had noticed. He could be _anywhere_.

He fell to his knees, his hands suddenly sorting through the papers in a panic.

"Don't mess up the room. I don't want him knowing you searched it."

He turned to reply, and there was something in him that might have been anger as he clutched Henry's shirt in hand. It dissolved immediately at the sight of her, and a stillness echoed within him instead. He nodded robotically.

He started a slower search, placidly sorting through the pages under her watchful eye. A part of him knew this was fruitless. Henry was nothing if not a bright child, and if he was well and truly running he wouldn't have left evidence of such behind. His stomach was churning with nausea, but it felt distant.

He wished he could feel frustrated with the dampened emotions that stirred underneath the stoicism.

After he was done, Regina directed him to another corner. Then the sitting room. Then the kitchen. She insisted on his being methodical, so slow in the search that hours crept by. He wanted to scream but could only follow as her orders intensified. Just as he expected, there was nothing other than evidence of a hastily packed snack.

By the time he'd practically overturned the entire house, Regina was to the point where her frustration was actually painted all across her face. "He is mine, and I need him back _now_ ," she bit out.

He said nothing, but startled as headlights illuminated the front windows.

Regina was quicker than he, taking measured heel clicks. Her composure faltered almost deliberately as she opened the door, the tears she hadn't shed falling down her cheeks as she ran the final steps to her son. Graham's gaze found Henry first, and relief pooled inside him so tightly he felt lightheaded with it.

Then his eyes drifted up, catching the flash of red and blonde mixing together. Something whispered over him, and suddenly his emotions were clear and, for a moment, vivid.

He barely felt it a moment before Henry spat a bitter, "I found my real mom," and dove past them and into the house.

xxx

 _ **Eleven Years Ago**_

Once he was sure they had put a few miles between the other party, and was certain they had likely passed out, he'd started a fire. The warm glow gave him his first good look at the girl who'd invaded his and his brother's space.

She was young, perhaps about his age. She wasn't familiar, but that wasn't strange. When he went to town, no one was exactly eager to cross his path let alone introduce themselves to him. He had inventoried only a fraction of the faces he knew must live in the village, and she wasn't among them. He knew enough to find that the humans all had the same look to them, a certain telltale sign of community.

But she didn't look at all like them. Not in dress, not in stature, not in appearance.

Her lip was smeared red with the dried blood from his hand, making it stand out that she was somewhat grey in pallor. Her long blonde hair was tangled but still managed to shine around knots and dirt. She was thin, even gaunt in areas. She was about as undernourished as he, he'd say. However, her clothing looked well-made and unusual, which made him think it was expensive. The stitching was uniform, neat, and had been done by a careful hand. And yet, it looked old and worn. The colors were saturated on some of the layered pieces, deeply faded on others. And her trousers were a strange blue fabric that frayed white along the holes at her knees.

His brother lazed around them, relaxed. His ears were back, and he stared calmly at the fire. His comfort around the girl was what eased the misgivings of her, though it hadn't fully resolved.

"You never answered me before," he said after a long moment.

She looked up, her eyes wide. He supposed he could understand her surprise. He hadn't said a word since they'd left their hiding spot. "Wh-what?"

There was fear and distraction left in her tone, and it made him feel like he was more firmly in control of the situation. He shifted. "How did you get by us?" he repeated still. He was less and less sure she was a threat, but he still wanted answers.

She pushed the hair out of her face and tucked it behind an ear. "I don't know how you missed me. I didn't exactly plan it. I woke up there, and it was definitely not where I last remembered." She paused to throw a stick in the fire. "How far are we from Portland?"

His face screwed up, brow furrowed. He wasn't sure what to make of her tale, though she didn't seem to be lying. "I haven't heard of the village. It must be leagues."

Her eye twitched. "Village? It's the capital of Oregon."

His head tilted. Oregon? "You're near the edge of Misthaven."

" _Misthaven_? Seriously?"

He relaxed somewhat. "Yeah. Now you get your bearings?"

"Not even a little. Is Misthaven in Oregon?"

He frowned and shook his head.

"Where, then? Washington?"

He shook his head again, but this time more to clear confusion. "I don't know these places. Misthaven is the main kingdom in this part of the Enchanted Forest. Which rulers do you live under, then?"

"Rulers? Enchanted—Are you kidding me, guy?" she asked. Her face was puckered into a strange mix of disbelief, anger, and a touch of fear.

He let out a sharp breath from his nose and squared his shoulders. "No. And shouldn't you be answering my questions, here?" he asked, suddenly feeling suspicion creep back in. "Are you tracking for them?"

Her head shot up, green eyes set in disbelief. "No."

He realized how stupid his line of questioning was as soon as he said it. She could barely _walk_ in the forest, let alone track.

She shivered as she looked into the night. She curled into herself, her fingers tripping up and down her arms. "They won't … they won't come back this way, will they?"

He studied her a long time before deciding her fear was genuine. That, at least, he could feel. "Not for a while, at least. The woods are even harder to navigate when you're stumbling drunk. I'm surprised they got as close as they did, actually."

She shuddered. "What did they want?"

He was quiet a beat as he considered whether or not to reply. He stared into the flames, feeling his stomach roll. "They're hunters, the kind that do for profit, and not exactly skilled ones at that. They need to meet a quota each fortnight. They'd either take whatever food I have for the night, or try to take …." He trailed off, and glanced to his brother. He was watching them both from his place on the forest floor, his head resting on his paws.

"Is that why one eye is messed up like that?"

He said nothing, and jabbed the log with a branch, stirring the fire.

She blew out an audible breath, her hands rubbing together as she inched closer to the flames. "So … do you have food for the night?"

He swallowed. He had been tracking deer all evening, only to find a small fawn at his mother's hooves. "No," he said simply. "Us two can go a night without, if we need."

"How come he follows you around like that, anyway?"

"He's … never mind about it," he muttered.

She watched the wolf with a strange look. Finally, she inched closer. His brother's head shot up, but then his tongue lolled out. He watched her closely as they studied each other. It was obvious his brother didn't see her as a threat; that much was clear. But over the hours he was finding that it was more than that. He _trusted_ her. He never would have let her get so close while he was still injured otherwise.

She reached out, and the wolf sniffed her hand. He thought that she would attempt to pet him, before she abruptly switched positions, holding her hand out in front of his face.

He looked at her in surprise. "What?"

"Your hand," she said simply, her look impatient.

His brow furrowed and he held it out. "What about it?"

She looked it over and rolled her eyes. "You didn't even put a bandaid or anything. Don't you survivalist guys always carry some in your pack?"

 _Bandaid_ , he mouthed the foreign word, then rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a strip of cloth. "Is this what—"

"It'll do," she said, and inspected his hand. She grabbed his water skin and spilled some on her sleeve, wiping it across her face until the dark red was gone. The rest she overturned on his palm. He hissed as the liquid shifted dirt and dried blood, reopening the wound. "Water only goes so far. I don't suppose you have antibiotic cream or something?"

His face screwed up again at the unfamiliar terminology, but he took a glance around. "The long plant over there. Ice Greens help fight against infection."

"Good," she said, and stood. She plucked the plant from its place and then hesitated.

"You need to tear the leaves," he instructed as it dawned on him where her indecision stemmed from. He'd never seen anyone so at a loss at how to deal with the most common of herbal remedies.

She started shredding the leaves with a quick determination. The aloe came from its veins and she spread it along the bite mark. "Wouldn't want you getting rabies or something from me."

He looked her over curiously. He had never had anyone take care of his wounds before, not like this. And certainly not by a human. "Is this your way of apologizing?"

She glared at him. "No. You shouldn't have grabbed me. But at least now you know."

He felt the edge of his lip tremble, as if he wanted to smile at her. "You're a strange human," he mused.

"Emma," she said as she tied the cloth with an audible hiss of the fabric. He flinched back a wince at the pressure against the wound. "My name's Emma."

"Emma," he repeated, and gave a short nod of acknowledgement as he took his hand back.

"So…?" she prompted.

He looked around before meeting her eye again. "What?"

She sighed. "What's your name?"

"Oh," he said. He shrugged. "What you heard them call me is all I've ever been known by. Maybe a couple other choice phrases."

"I don't want to call you those things," she said, more to herself. Her lips downturned into a frown.

He didn't understand. Why did she care? "I don't mind being called a wolf. Wolves don't need names, and they're my family, so," he finished.

Her mouth opened and then shut. She curled into herself, rubbing her arms. "I've always had a name. It was the _only_ thing I always had," she said softly.

"That's good for you, then," he stated simply.

She nodded, as if realizing something. "How old are you?" she demanded next.

He rolled his eyes. "Does it matter?"

She seemed to consider that for a moment. "I don't know. Not really, I guess."

He studied her a moment before deciding that it wouldn't be harmful. "Like 16, 17? I'm not sure exactly." Most of what he determined was based on Fionn's guess from years ago.

"Oh," she said, and blinked.

He rubbed the back of his neck, seeing the flash of disbelief and pity once more. A flare of annoyance stirred inside him, and he rose up. "I'll get us something to eat."

She reached into her pockets, before pulling out a strange item. "Here. I have two."

He took the offering cautiously, turning around the crinkling item in his hands. It looked like a pastry of some sort, but it was encased in some clear, loud bubble. "What is this?"

She shrugged. "Store-bought muffin. Swiped a few before I ended up here." She tore open the surrounding container, and pulled the sweet from inside.

"I don't need your pity," he said gruffly.

She sighed. "Look, I'm sorry I asked, okay? I just wanted to know what to call you. But I'm—look, I don't know what I'm doing here, I don't know if those guys will come back, and I'm just—I don't want you leaving me here alone, okay?"

He studied her a long moment, considering, before finally settling back down. His nails bit into the packaging. Having watched her do it, it was simple to free the pastry. The first taste was surprising, sweet and dense, and he again was struck by the idea that she must be wealthy. It didn't make sense for her to be out here all alone, then, unless she was trying to escape something. "It's good," he proclaimed.

"Yeah," she agreed simply.

He tore off a section and placed it in front of his brother, who tilted his head to swallow it down quickly. The girl rolled the pasty in her hands, and then did the same, offering a small piece to the wolf. They ate in silence, almost companionably, as they shared a look of understanding over the confections.

He might end up enjoy his company for the evening.

* * *

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Guest Comments

 **Guest** : Good, I'm glad it's making sense now! I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 ** _Chapter 3_**

* * *

 _ **Present**_

Emma stood awkwardly in the doorway, in the center of the first floor of the rich-looking house. She placed her hands on her hips, desperate for some semblance of control. "How did he find me?" she finally asked, at a loss.

Regina crossed the room, tucking her hair back as two cut-crystal glasses were placed on the side table. She worked with stiff motions, not looking up for even a beat as she readied ice and opened the decanter. "No idea. When I adopted him, he was only three weeks old. Records were sealed. I was told the birth mother didn't want to have any contact."

She stiffened, and quickly looked away. "You were told right," she said absently, and her fingers itched a bit. _Miss Swan, it's the best choice. Girl, you can't do this._ … _Emma, you can change your mind._

A splash sounded as she poured one of the drinks. "And the father?"

A door sounded upstairs and Emma glanced up briefly before replying. "There was one," she said, hand clenching as she rocked back on her heels. She didn't want to think about Neal and the harm he did to her on so many levels, not now.

"Do I need to be worried about him?" Regina demanded.

Her jacket felt too tight, constricting her as even the fleeting reminder was too much. But there was something else, some partial memory digging into her brain as footsteps began at the hallway above them. "Nope," she said, popping the 'p' deliberately. "He doesn't even know."

The other woman turned, a smile that looked more predatory as she sauntered forward, drink in hand. "Do I need to be worried about you, Miss Swan?" she asked, threat barely intoned but clearly there.

She took the drink, keeping careful eye contact while her face was a mask. "Absolutely not."

"Madame Mayor."

She turned to watch the man from before take the stairs carefully, and she leaned onto the frame. She felt a little drained already from the talk, and his accented voice didn't help things. There was something so strangely familiar about his voice, the pooling of vowels and consonants, the soft cadence. Almost like she knew already how it would sound before his lips shaped around the words.

"You can relax. Other than being a tired little boy, Henry's fine."

She couldn't help but stare as she sipped her drink, swallowing a mouthful. His frame was lean, lithe as he turned the corner. His words were directed to the brunette opposite her, though his gaze drifted to her surreptitiously throughout his descent of the staircase.

"Thank you, Sheriff."

The mayor's tone was dismissive, and the man inclined his head slightly. His blue eyes caught hers for a moment, and she was almost surprised at how immediately her whole body both relaxed and ignited. She buried her nose into her drink, pretending not to notice as he bumped the railing before making his exit.

If it had been another day, she might have smiled.

"I'm sorry he's dragged you out of your life," Regina said with certainty. "I really don't know what's gotten into him." She walked to the next room, giving no room but for her to join.

Emma trailed behind, trying to keep herself on an even keel. "Kid's having a rough time. It happens," she said simply. She remembered all too well what it was like to want to know where you came from at that age: those built up stories, those wondrous imaginings. She had just hoped that being with a loving family, her … _the_ kid wouldn't have that same need.

The fireplace was strong, and the smell of burning wood and apple was quickly making her dizzy. She sat on the sofa and clutched her drink before setting it down next to a bowl. Great, more apples. The red fruit sat in a dish, piled high and stacked deliberately.

Regina remained standing, pacing the length of the room. "You have to understand. Ever since I became mayor, balancing things has been tricky. You have a job, I assume?"

Something about her tone made her grip her glass all the more. "I keep busy, yeah," she replied.

Regina's chin rose, a sharp smile on her lips as she sat opposite her. "Imagine having another one on top of it. That's being a single mom. So, I push for order. Am I strict? I suppose. But I do it for his own good. I want Henry to excel in life. I don't think that makes me evil, do you?"

Her voice was so light and airy, the words so carefully chosen. Evil, there was that word again. Did Henry tell her that? Her chest twisted a bit, and she grimaced. "I'm sure he's just saying that because of the fairytale thing."

Something slipped over her face, the warmth out of her expression and instead she was stone. "What fairytale thing?"

"Oh, you know. His book." Regina didn't give any reaction, no indication that she knew what she was talking about, so she continued. "How he thinks everyone's a cartoon character from it? Like his shrink is Jiminy Cricket."

The woman's face was blank, but something in her eyes burned. "I'm sorry. I really have no idea what you're talking about."

Emma looked away, and a little warning bell rang within her. She did her best to ignore it, shrugging with an uneasy smile. "You know what? It's none of my business. He's your kid. And I really should be heading back." She took another sip of the drink, trying to hide her expression.

Regina rose quickly. "Of course," she said. She opened the door and turned to her expectantly.

Emma paused, the drink not completely finished. Awkwardly, she set the glass down. Regina seemed more than eager to get her out of the house.

She was practically pushed out the door, a false smile on the brunette's lips. Emma walked down the drive, the nagging feeling of something not right nibbling at her spine. She paused at the gate and looked back. The curtains of the upstairs were parted, Henry's nose pressed up against the glass.

It was just a phase, she told herself. She was just strict. He was just trying to learn.

He looked dejected, and quickly left the window. Emma's heart twisted, and she tried desperately to push it aside.

"Sweet boy, wouldn't you say?"

Her head turned quickly, surprised to be caught unaware. She was always aware of her surroundings, but somehow this man who was clumsy enough to stumble into an immovable object was able to creep up behind her defenses.

He was leaning against her car, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. "I'm Graham, by the way."

The name wasn't really familiar, and she was annoyed by it. _He_ was familiar, somehow, sort of.

"Emma," she offered. She walked a couple paces towards him. She wanted to get away from whatever this town was, whatever feelings it made stir in her. She huffed a sigh, trying to keep just enough distancing humor in her voice. "I have a long drive ahead of me, so if you could find somewhere else to lean?"

"I think it might be better if you spent the night."

Emma straightened. She could almost feel how his hands would rest along her hips, how his lean body would fit into hers, his teeth in her shoulder, and it didn't _just_ feel like her imagination. Heat sparked in her belly, even if she was almost certain he didn't understand his own innuendo. "That's kind of forward."

"I know Regina's drinks," he started. His eyebrows rose, only innocence in those cobalt depths. "I'd hate to get out the breathalyzer."

She just barely held from rolling her eyes. He had that boyish look about him, messy hair and puppy eyes not hidden by chiseled jaw and stubbled cheeks. He was attractive, she could admit that, but there was something else.

"There's a B and B up the road," he said, gesturing with his head. "Granny's. It's a lovely place."

Her eyes narrowed. No. She needed out of this town, away from the boy, away from this man, and just _away_. "I hate to disappoint you," she said, coming a pace closer. "But I only had one drink."

His eyes dilated as she got in his space. She almost fumbled when she felt the heat from his body.

"And I'm way—well, I'm not going to tell you that."

He ducked his head, shy suddenly, as a blush rose just under his beard. He looked up at her from the lowered position, a smile in his eyes that struck that chord in her. She faltered for a moment, her stomach dropping out and her mind foggy.

She leaned back defensively, and had to remind herself that she couldn't stick around. "But the point is, right now, I'd blow a point oh-six. Well below the limit."

He huffed a chuckle, and pushed off her car. Momentarily, he was inside her space, the smell of him almost unlocking something tucked away from the corner of her mind. "Drive safe," he said, his accent curling around the words.

He turned and opened her door for her. She stepped into it, fighting the urge to let her fingers dance along his as she passed. She started the car, and he closed it shut. She determinedly didn't look up, didn't watch to see his expression as she sped away.

It felt wrong to leave them behind: both the strange man and the little boy who she carried. It almost terrified her how wrong it felt. She didn't belong there, she didn't belong anywhere. The feeling that she could twist and settle into that world was a new and frightening feeling.

She headed down the road, rubbing her eyes tiredly. Exhaustion curled inside her; her head throbbed as she tried to process what just happened. The night was much too much for her. She had spent the last years trying not to be effected by anyone, and that was swept away so quickly it was as if she had never made progress in the first place.

She sighed, and looked down. She startled, finding the kid's storybook on the passenger seat. She gave a quirk of a smile, shaking her head. "Sneaky bastard," she said, amusement clear. She bit her lip, contemplating turning around to return it. She looked up with in time to see her headlights catch a flash of grey, beady red and black staring her down.

She swerved quickly, the bug slipping against the rain. She hit the tree before she even had a chance to think about correcting, her head pitching forward as black encroached her vision.

XXX

 _ **Eleven Years Ago**_

"Wake up."

She stirred at the first sound of the voice, panic clinging to her. Where was she? What was happening? Were the hunters back?

"Emma, wake up."

She blinked awake, wondering when it was she fell asleep. She brushed dirt out of her hair and face, noting the crick in her neck from laying on the ground. Her bleary eyes found him, noting the lack of fear. She relaxed slightly. "What is it?"

He nodded to the distance. "You can see the fairies from here. Once they're gone, the others will probably be going back to town. You need to get ready to move, just in case they come through this way."

She sighed and leaned up. She noticed he'd put the fire out, and she pulled her jacket closer. It wasn't too cold, but the chill of wishing away the fear of those men made her so. Then, it clicked what he'd said. "Fairies don't—"

He sighed and reached out, tilting her chin in the direction he wanted. "You'll miss them if all you do is talk."

Her eyes widened, and she was left speechless.

A dance of color, of blues and pinks and yellows and purples, washed across the forest canopy. In each light, tiny weightless women with glimmering wings waved shimmering wands. They were clear, even in the distance.

"Wha—What—Wolf boy, what's going on?"

His face screwed up slightly. "Maybe you _do_ need to think of something else to call me," he noted. He gestured to the lights once more. "I think they're collecting the fairy dust. The mines aren't far from here."

"Fairy dust?" she murmured.

She must still be dreaming. There was no other explanation for it. No explanation for the glittering women in tiny balls of light. No explanation for a wolf that clings protectively to a boy's side. No explanation for waking in the woods after seeing headlights careening toward her –

"I must be in a coma," she finally decided aloud.

He gave her one of those looks again, ones that said he was exceptionally perplexed by everything she did.

She didn't really care, not anymore. Now that she was convinced that this was some weird sort of coma dream, she could finally relax.

"Yeah, the fairy dust. They should be done collecting around five, and that's when those men will be up. They'll want to get in some last hunting in the pre-dawn."

She watched the iridescent beings in silence for a few beats. She let out a short, hysterical giggle, then pulled her hair through her hands. Of _course_ this was a dream. It made so much _sense_.

She leaned back with a contented sigh, and she winced slightly as her elbows scrapped against bark. She frowned as she inspected the scratches, the new wounds. Were they new? Were they from now, or from the crash?

She shook her head as if to clear it, and refocused on the _fairies_. Then she turned to him, finding his features softened. He looked peaceful, for once his face not a hard line of control. "You like it," she surmised.

He stiffened, but then simply shrugged. "I used to want a little of the luck. But it's not for animals, I guess."

A wash of concern flitted ever her. Why was she so concerned for this boy her coma-addled mind produced? Still, she wanted to offer something, anything to help get the self-deprecating tone out of his voice. "There's no fairy godmothers for us, wolf boy. We just take what we got and survive."

"You're right," he muttered. "Just wait for them to finish."

She bit down on her lip, feeling cold as he shifted further from her. She didn't mean to do that. She always said the wrong things, always pushed people away. She couldn't escape that even in these visions.

Neal would get tired of her soon, in real life. A lash of pain struck her, the idea of being alone again, before she steeled.

She didn't need anybody. She had always been on her own, and she had no problem with that. She would be fine, no matter how many people left.

The wolf got up and pushed into her. She looked at him for a moment, wondering what it was supposed to symbolize. Just as she was considering a half-remembered English class, the wolf laid down, rolling slightly off of its left side. She pressed a hand against his stomach like she would a dog, and he snapped at her wrist. She pulled back quickly, eyes wide as she curled into herself.

"Don't touch his side," the boy said simply, not even glancing up at her. "He's still hurt."

It felt important that she knew that, somewhere balancing a host of trust, or maybe just insight into her subconscious. She blew out a low breath. "Okay."

She turned her focus on the lights again, and tried not to think of how high the hospital bill would be once she came to.

* * *

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

 _ **Present**_

Henry had thrown himself onto his bed by the time Graham had found him. His arms were crossed in front of him, but he had a little smile on his face.

Graham shut the door behind him, and Henry looked over to him with bright eyes. "Did you see her?"

Graham nodded. "That's …," he trailed off a moment. He didn't know which phrase to use. Mother seemed too personal. "The woman who gave birth to you?"

Henry nodded, then sat up with a sort of eagerness on his face. "Do you think I look like her?"

To be fair, he had only seen the blonde for a moment, having wanted to make sure Henry was okay. But there was something about the feel of her presence that was familiar, and must have been because he saw it reflected in the boy he had known for the past decade. "Yeah, I think she looks like you, Henry," he said softly.

Henry beamed.

Graham sat on the edge of the bed, blowing out a low breath. "We don't know anything about her, though. And I know things have been rough with your mom, but just because you found this other woman doesn't mean it'll get better," he reasoned.

Henry shook his head. "No, you don't understand. She's here to change _everything_."

Graham wanted to argue it, but something quieter agreed with the lad. Instead, he looked at him pointedly. "That was a dangerous thing you did, Henry."

Henry's eyes shaded, looking chagrined for the first time. "I know," he said guiltily.

"You scared m—" he cut himself off, swallowing hard. He took a shuddering breath, and amended his statement. "You scared your mother."

Henry seemed to hear his half-spoken word and scooted closer to him. "I'm sorry, Graham," he said. "But I _needed_ to find her."

"Next time, tell me," he pleaded. "I would have helped you." He's not sure if he meant 'stopped you' in this instance, and something about that knowledge made him a little lightheaded. He'd do anything for this boy.

A flash of rebellion sparked in his eyes, as well as a sharper bit of fear. "No one can leave Storybrooke but me." He gave a thoughtful look. "And her."

His brows knitted in confusion, and he pressed a hand to the top of his head. "What do you mean?"

Henry shifted, a wall thrown up between them as he laid onto the pillow. "I d'nno. I'm tired."

Graham pressed his lips together, trying not to be upset that he'd closed up so quickly. "You're a good kid, Henry. Even if you don't feel like opening up to your mom … I'm here, okay?"

His gaze softened. "I know you are," he said. He turned over on his back. "Do you think she'll stay?"

He shrugged; he hadn't even spoken to her, so he couldn't pretend to know her intentions. "What do you think?"

He stared at his ceiling, contemplating. "I think she _has_ to stay."

He wanted that for him. He saw how much brighter the child was in the other woman's presence, as the light lingered in him even now. His hand traced his badge thoughtfully, wondering if he could use it somehow to get her to stay long enough to satisfy the lad's curiosity.

"I hope she's ready," Henry murmured.

"For what?" Graham pressed. He wondered if Henry would verbalize it, his need to have a relationship with the woman.

He turned once more, his back to him. "G'night, Graham."

Graham nodded, understanding that he pressed too hard. "Goodnight, Henry," he said. He lingered by the door, and grabbed the map from his pocket. He rested it between the wall and his desk, out of sight. The light clicked off as he left, though he was certain the boy would be awake for a good while longer.

Once outside the door, he hesitated. There was a palpable discomfort to the air, the tension rising from below. He took the stairs quickly, his eye catching bright blue-green. She _did_ look like Henry.

He addressed Regina as he descended, and tried not to focus on how much he wanted to talk with the other woman.

His emotions felt heightened somehow; they were sharper, more focused. And yes, he wanted Henry to get whatever closure he needed from her, and around Henry his emotions were always a little clearer.

This felt _more_.

A part of him wanted to warn her away from hurting the lad, but a glance to Regina made him certain more persuasion to keep her distance wouldn't be necessary. Instead, he needed to press to see that she _stayed_.

And he was a little alarmed to find that he didn't _just_ want her to stay for the boy.

He looked up at the house once he'd left, the ring of Regina's dismissal resounding in his head. For once, though, it began to diminish until it was mere annoyance instead of binding. He looked up toward Henry's window and his fists curled in and out as he considered his options.

The boy appeared, glancing down at him solemnly. His eyes were large, pleading. Graham offered a small smile that he hoped was reassuring, and continued down to the street.

The yellow of her car stood out from the monotony of the drive. It fit her somehow, and his head cocked to the side as he wondered how he could possibly come to that conclusion. They had never even addressed each other; how could he be certain?

But he _was_ , and that was maddening.

He nodded firmly to himself and took a few determined steps forward. He pushed back against the car, leaning as casually as he was able.

When she appeared, she was distracted. Her expressions were clearly readable as her brow furrowed, and she glanced the same direction he had moments before.

Henry was staring down, disappointment plain on his face to see her leaving so soon.

Graham took the opportunity, and rightened his posture. "Sweet boy, wouldn't you say?"

He felt a flash of pride to have caught her unaware as she whipped around to face him. She quickly pulled on a couple facades over her face, clouding her emotion to one of disinterest.

"I'm Graham, by the way," he greeted.

"Emma," she offered, and came forward a few paces. Wariness read in her blue-green eyes, a certain challenge beneath. "I have a long drive ahead of me, so if you could find somewhere else to lean?"

His jaw tightened, surprised to find the clenching of his stomach at the idea of her leaving. "I think it might be better if you spent the night."

Her eyes fogged briefly, not there with him but elsewhere. Her pupils had dilated a fraction, and her brow quirked just slightly. "That's kind of forward."

"I know Regina's drinks," he explained away, trying to deflect away from Henry as much as possible. "I'd hate to get out the breathalyzer."

She didn't look amused, but she didn't seem to be peeling back the layers of his cover either.

"There's a B and B up the road," he said, gesturing with his head. "Granny's. It's a lovely place."

Her eyes narrowed, and he felt something else start in his stomach, a strange familiarity that had nothing to do with the boy in the house above them. "I hate to disappoint you," she said, coming a pace closer. "But I only had one drink."

A ghost of a memory brushed across his mind, so faint he could not catch it, as she got in his space. The sudden heat from her body found himself knowing _exactly_ how that hair would feel beneath his fingers, how her head would weigh against his chest. He couldn't blink away the sudden fantasy that felt more real than anything done in late nights or long meetings over the past ten years.

"And I'm way—well, I'm not going to tell you that."

He ducked his head as heat flooded his face. He glanced up at her and couldn't help the smile that crossed his face.

She leaned back abruptly, cutting off his train of thought. "But the point is, right now, I'd blow a point oh-six. Well below the limit."

He huffed a chuckle, and pushed off her car. He was inside her space, by his own accord this time, and he resisted the urge to wrap his fingers along her hip. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket instead. "Drive safe," he said.

He turned and opened her door for her. He knew he was supposed to feel dejected, sorry that his plan hadn't worked.

But something softer was telling him that this wasn't the end.

He rocked on his toes as he watched until the red of the brake lights slid into the distance. He blew out a long breath before heading to the cruiser.

Sleep never came easy to him, and he had a feeling it would be even more fruitless to try tonight.

He was certain he'd know what to do by morning.

 _ **11 Years Ago**_

The morning was a dry one.

Never did they pass the hunting party again, and he considered the girl a good luck charm on that part. He didn't know what he would do if he had to stand against them again. His brother was still healing from last time; there was no guarantee they would have made it through unscathed.

And he couldn't lose another family member.

He looked over at the girl. She had fallen back asleep against an overturned log. His brother had curled next to her ever since she drifted off again. At first he'd assumed he was providing warmth since the fire had been extinguished, but he hadn't moved once he'd started the pit for a morning meal. Her hands curled into his fur unconsciously, breathing even and slow.

Unlike most humans, it seemed she could sleep anywhere. But also unlike most humans, he found himself wanting to refer to her by her name. There was a spark of something he was missing, and the lingering fear that she was a dark magic user had nearly faded completely. Something about this girl had him trusting her far more than any person in years.

Not that that was saying much.

He'd woken earlier to the sound of rustling, and had gotten his bow prepared immediately. The boar had been large and aggressive, but he was felled quickly. The brave animal would feed them for a few days, perhaps with enough left over to sell to the village even with the extra stomach he had to fill. He had only had to travel a short distance to the banks of the creek to find a few herbs and edible plants to accompany it.

It would be his payment for the food she provided the night before. She had been willing to share her rich treat and it was only to return the favor that he twisted the flavorful spices he'd usually forgo into the meat. At least, that was what he told himself.

Beyond the trust and the feeling of owing someone was the desire to keep her safe, a strange need to provide for her health. And maybe a strange want to impress her, too.

He spun a piece of meat around on the fire, and tried not to think too much of it. The wraps of green he'd tied it with gave the air a pleasant fragrance, and it was easier to concentrate on cooking than on the peculiar figure stirring at his right.

Emma awoke with a deep inhale. "What smells so … _good_?"

"Breakfast," he said simply, then raised his eyes to her. Her blonde hair was a mess of tangles, dirt smudging her sallow cheeks, and _still_ she looked out of place. Her eyes, he decided. They were too clear, too green, too all-enveloping. "We're deeper in the forest now. It'd be a good day's walk if you want to go to town."

She glanced around them, then up at the pearl grey sky. "Why so far?"

He pulled the meat from the spit and handed her some. "Further away from the hunting party, for one. I never like to be _too_ far from town, in case we need supplies. But too close means more of their kind."

She nodded solemnly. She blew on the food, steam rushing up in a low curl. Cautiously, she chewed around the meat and he watched her aptly. "This is pretty good. I guess that makes sense that I would dream of good food."

He didn't know where she came up with these ideas, but he decided not to call her on it this time. Let her believe what she would. He ignored the part of him that was pleased that she liked it.

"Why are you here?" he finally asked, curiosity winning over mistrust.

She looked up to meet his eye. "I don't even know where I am," she countered, something he already knew. "I was supposed to leave the shop and meet with this guy to go over our haul. It was supposed to be a quick thing, then there was the lights. Next thing I know, you're in my face."

He raised one brow at her skeptically.

She rolled her eyes. "I can't tell you what I don't know." His brother nudged his nose into her leg, prompting her to scratch his head. He studied the two curiously as she obliged; his brother was never so willing to let others touch him.

He shifted uncomfortably. Her story made no sense, but he trusted her confusion if only because of the wolf's reaction. "I'll get you back to town once the quarter passes. The men will have gone home by then with their earnings. They're not ones to get an early start on the next quota, so we shouldn't run into them by then."

She swallowed her bite and swiped the back of her hand across her lips. "When's that?"

"Tomorrow," he replied, and twisted the meat.

A small smile quirked her lips. "So I'm stuck with you 'til then?"

A bitter feeling struck him, and he glared down at his food. "I'll get you there at first light," he promised gruffly.

He felt a brush at his sleeve, and looked up to meet her eye. "No, I mean … thanks. For the food, for last night, just … thanks."

His gaze flicked across her, his body unfurling from the tension. "You're welcome."

She looked around, and he could tell she was more awake as she took in her surroundings. "So, we'll stay around here? In the middle of nowhere?"

He squinted at her, and felt his hesitance slid away as he consciously made the decision to trust her. "I have a camp hidden a couple miles up the river. We can stay there, if you prefer."

She cocked her head to the side, seeming to think about it. "What's the difference?"

He tried not to show his amusement with her confusion, though he wasn't entirely sure he was able to keep it hidden. "The bank, for one. It's a wide one, and it's calm enough to wade in. And I have a few odds and ends collected there, books and things. Things to pass the time."

She pushed her hair behind her ear, seeming to consider this as she chewed thoughtfully. Her eyes were caught on his, and he couldn't seem to break the stare. Finally, she nodded. "Sounds good." She rose, looking at him expectantly.

This time he wasn't able to stop his smile.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

 _ **Present**_

There was a heavy downpour that began just as Henry's birthmother disappeared into the night. He found it fitting, and stood in the rain as he tried to wrangle the strange feelings that emerged in her presence.

No, it wasn't wrangling them. It was trying desperately to cling to them, as they faded away like sand through his fingers. He tried to concentrate on grasping them together, to linger in feeling. It was almost like he felt around Henry, but _more_. More complex, more tangible, more real.

But it had faded to such a distant pang, emptiness quick to replace it. Standing in the cold at least made him feel _something_.

He wasn't sure how long he stood in the rain, how long he let the chill freeze him. When the cold turned to numb, he realized that there wasn't anything left to keep him there, and he wandered back to the cruiser.

The call came in just as he was pulling into the parking lot of his apartment building. A strange flair of both panic and relief hit him, and he hung up on Gold immediately and dialed Franklin's Towing as he drove off again into the night.

The crash site was, thankfully, just as Gold had described. The car wasn't folded in. There was no broken glass, no smoke, no blood. In fact, if it hadn't been for the swerving tire tracks on the road, he'd say the car had been simply parked next to the tree.

The old man smiled when he'd shown up. "Sheriff, good. I'll let you take it from here."

He heard a truck roll up behind him, and watched as the enigmatic man limped away on his cane. There was something so pleased in his expression, something that almost made him chilled.

When he approached the yellow beetle, he did so cautiously. The flashlight's beam cut through the rain, and he found the door to the car open, a book's pages flapping wildly. And there was Emma, hands pillowing her head upon the steering wheel.

His eyebrow cocked up, and he wondered for a moment if she was hurt. He stepped closer, and couldn't help the tug on his lips when he could finally hear. She was snoring.

He sighed aloud, wryly looking down at the prone figure. "I warned you about Regina's drinks," he admonished with a chuckle.

He looked back to find Michael and Billy by the road. "All clear! Go ahead and tow the car into town. I'll take her to the tank to sober up."

Tillman nodded, already headed for his truck. Billy jogged down the hill, making his way to the rear of the vehicle. "Doesn't look too banged up. How many do you think she had?"

Graham reached out and grabbed the limp woman by the shoulder in an attempt to rouse her. Instead, a shock burst from the touch, and he pulled back. It was electric, shooting down his nerves in sparks of warmth, and a vision of a grey wolf flashed behind the lids of his eyes. He frowned. Then, he reached again, more hesitantly. This time, there was nothing but a vague warmth as he shook her gently. She mumbled something unintelligible but didn't wake. "Maybe Regina made it a triple," he said with a sigh.

He carefully extracted her from the car, hooking her upper body beneath the crook of his elbow and her legs over his other forearm. Her head rolled onto his shoulder, and she sighed in sleep. He swallowed. This woman … there was still something so strangely familiar about her, especially now as he felt her weight in his arms.

When he looked up to Billy, the man's head was tilted curiously. "What?" he asked.

Billy shook his head, but there was a trace of amusement in his eyes. "Nothing, Sheriff. The car'll be in the shop when she asks."

Graham nodded, and started up the hill, adjusting Emma as she sunk onto him.

The drive was silent, and he continued to check the rearview mirror each time he stopped at a light. She was out completely, her breathing steady and even.

When he got to the station, he hauled her into his arms again and realized just how empty he had felt in that short time. He took her inside the quiet station, flicking on a light as he passed. Leroy was snoring loudly in his cell, and Marco wasn't due til morning.

She stirred in his arms, twisting close. "Wolf, hmm," she murmured, and buried her face into his chest. He paused, looking down at her. He was overcome with the need to be closer, to protect her. He swallowed again, and focused on her face. He stopped comparing her to Henry, forgetting to distance himself in that way. Her cheeks were a warm pink from either the alcohol or sleep, brow furrowed slightly as she breathed steadily. Her blonde hair spiraled across her face, and she was so familiar that he couldn't breathe for a minute.

He placed her on the bed in the cell, fighting ever instinct that wanted to curl up with her. He knew her, didn't he? Had he met her before Storybrooke, before his life became so mundane? But where? Where had he ever been before Storybrooke?

His mind throbbed, and he turned away, locking the cell behind him as his head split in the throes of a migraine. He couldn't linger on this, on her.

He needed to get _away_.

 **x**

 _ **Eleven Years Ago**_

 **x**

They had set off to follow the creek once breakfast was finished.

Emma trudged along, her Chucks doing little to support her as she cracked branches and wobbled over stones and roots. Her companion moved effortlessly, weaving through the brush as if it were empty. She reasoned that it made sense; dreams often made her feel heavier and clumsier than she actually was.

But on the other hand, she felt the sweat trickle down her neck. Her ankle twisted as she hopped over a boulder, and felt her throat become parched. That didn't happen in even her most vivid dreams, and it scared her to think about.

She was starting to doubt her own reasoning when he suddenly paused. "The sun's getting high. We should get water."

So, this apparition knew what she was feeling before she did. One point in the dream theory. She took a deep breath, her heart racing from the unfamiliar exercise, and then nodded. She pointed in the direction of the creek, which looked much wider and wilder than it had an hour ago. "Water looks pretty free to me."

He gave a blank expression, not reacting to her attempt at humor. He pulled one of the straps off his shoulder, and she could clearly see that what he was holding was similar to a canteen, the same one she'd used the night before to help bandage up his hand. He held it out to her in a clear offer.

She took it in relief, tossing her head back to waterfall it into her mouth. She groaned in disappointment at the small amount of liquid that came out. "Dammit," she cursed.

He nodded. "Pretty low, but as you said …."

She turned to the rushing water again and nodded. "So, looks kinda fast," she observed, feeling some hesitance peek through.

His chin jerked to a set of stones jutting out. "We'll use those to get out there. It'll be fine."

She followed him to the creekside, and then climbed onto the flat rock. It was high enough that she felt dry and long enough that she felt stable, and she took a second to get her bearings. She watched as he studied the path, hopping out to where the water was deeper.

"Do you actually use that?" she asked suddenly, pointing to the weapon strapped to his back.

He looked up at her, then down at his bow. "Yeah. When we need food or hides or anything else. Used it this morning, for the boar."

"This is a weird dream," she muttered. Her hands pulled through her hair, and she grimaced at the greasy feel. "Like, I didn't actually think I was into fairytales this much."

"Why do you keep insisting it's a dream?"

"Because that's all it could be," she snapped. She surprised herself with how forceful it came out, and looked away sharply. Her palms were sweaty, and she brushed them across her jeans. It was too real, all of this.

He shook his head, and continued along the stream. "Come. We need water."

She huffed and stepped along the rocks, watching his movements before making her own. Her own conviction wavered as followed him. It was all so alien, every piece of this reality. But … but _he_ felt so real despite it. Her theory made less and less sense the more she learned. "Just in case I'm not … why are you helping me?" she asked quietly.

He paused so suddenly that she almost tripped, slipping along the embankment. His hand shot out and caught her easily by her wrist.

He let go as soon as she regained her balance, and part of her was sorry for it. His thumb had brushed across her pulse, and there was a sharp poignancy to it that grounded her.

 _Was_ she so sure this was a dream?

He shrugged to her question, fingers flexing as he stared downstream. "I don't know," he answered finally. "Maybe because you don't belong, either."

She wanted to be offended. She knew very well that her first reaction should have been to be pissed off, to yell at him for making assumptions. But she considered her worn jeans and baggy striped tee that was faded and ripping along the hem. She compared his ease in the forest to her clumsiness. "Yeah, okay," she muttered.

He leaned down to fill his canteen, and then held it up to her.

For the first time, she actually took a moment to study him. His sandy brown hair fell in loose curls all along his forehead, sharply contrasting the grey-blue eyes that squinted up at her. She noted that while his jaw could hold tight, stony and stern, his eyes didn't always match. Right now, there was a playfulness to them, a hint of pride at catching her without a reply.

She snatched the canteen from his grasp and swallowed down a third of it in one go. She didn't want to think of the fact that it would be easy to get attracted, and worse _attached_ , to a face like that.

The water was cool and refreshing, but there was a taste there that was unfamiliar. She looked down at her hand, to the scratches and scrapes across it. She looked at the stitching on the canister, the careful stuttering of thread. It was too real.

"Wolf boy," she murmured, then looked up. "Is this … it can't be real, could it?"

His eyes crinkled, and then lifted a hand to wipe his brow. "It's as real as I know," he finally answered and shrugged.

Numbness tingled along her with his answer, and she nodded mutely. She wanted him to touch her again, to feel the solidness that made her believe, but was too unsure how to get him to. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest, shivering.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that he nodded once, mostly to himself. "We should get to the camp. I'll find you something to eat before we get there," he offered.

She twisted her hands in her coat. "Okay," she said in a low tone, and started back along the stones. Yeah, she needed a minute.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

 _ **Present**_

The first sound she heard was whistling.

Her eyes snapped open, and then she blinked awake. Her brow furrowed as she saw brick and bars surrounding her. And was that freaking _Whistle Why You Work_?

She looked over, finding a short, stocky man in mid-tune. He scowled when he saw her awake. "What are you looking at, sister?"

She leaned up, sighing, but before she could comment a thickly accented voice cut in. "Hey, Leroy, manners! We have a guest!"

She stood, watching as the older Italian man abandoned his search through the cupboards and smiled at her.

He leaned down to grab a thermos, his eyes dancing. "You are, eh, Henry's mother? How lovely for him to have you back in his life."

She rubbed her head, not sure if it was because of the knot she could feel forming at her temple or the words. "Actually I was just dropping him off." She thought about the boy, with the eyes that matched hers and the damn familiar smirk, and quickly stamped down any associated feeling.

The drunk, Leroy, scoffed. "Don't blame ya. They're all brats. Who needs 'em."

She felt a pang despite herself, and tried to focus on her spinning head instead.

"Well, I'd give anything for one," the old man said plainly. His head bowed, and then he looked up with a stiff frown. "My wife and I, we tried for many years. But, uh, it was not meant to be."

She grimaced, feeling that twinge of guilt she always felt when someone said something like that. She had been so young, and it wasn't like she had been trying. Getting pregnant hadn't even been a thought in her stupid mind back then, and yet … well, she was smarter, now.

"Well, cry me a river," Leroy said caustically.

"Leroy!"

She looked past the old man and the remorse to follow the brogue. She found dark blue eyes that were deliberately not on her. Her stomach tightened in something more akin to anticipation, and she walked forward.

"If I'm going to let you out, you need to behave." The keys in his hands jangled, and Emma watched with interest. There was something in the way he handled the object, the way his fingers moved. In the light of day, how was it that he seemed even more familiar? "Now, put on a smile and stay out of trouble."

Leroy paused at the door of the cell, a grin stretched sarcastically across his face. Graham only raised a brow in amusement and shook his head. Leroy sauntered past him and swiped the coffee the old man was offering. He left, casting a final look back at her.

Emma couldn't take this, this strange and conspicuous way that the only one she wanted to have attention from seemed intent on ignoring her. She leaned her elbows on the bars and huffed. "Seriously?"

He finally turned to her with his whole body. He seemed to take her in first, a flash of uncertainty before a smile tugged on his lips. He walked toward her, a hand out. "Regina's drinks? A little stronger than we thought."

She tried to glare at him, but wasn't sure it was as effective as usual since she couldn't seem to break her stare. Frustrated, she spat, "I wasn't drunk. There was a wolf standing in the middle of the road."

He looked stricken for a moment, eyes distant and fogged. After a moment, he shook it off. His brow lifted and he nodded once. "A wolf. Right."

She sucked in a sharp breath. Wolf. The way he said it. Her fingers itched, something in the back of her mind tugging her soul.

"Graham? Henry's run away again. We have to …." The mayor froze at the sight of her, her gaze hardening. "What is _she_ doing here?"

They had both stiffened at the voice, broken from whatever had connected them. He ducked his head and scratched his nose at her accusatory tone, suddenly lost of all the presence that drew her in. Her heart seized … _ran away again?_ … before she abruptly pulled her defenses back up.

Regina's eyes narrowed on her. "Do you know where he is?" she demanded.

She refused to break her stare. "Lady, I haven't seen him since I dropped him at your house. And I have a pretty good alibi."

She looked at Graham. He had retreated in all but physically at this point, but he still met her gaze and held it.

The mayor tilted her head back haughtily. "Yeah, well, he wasn't in his room this morning."

"Did you try his friends?" she shot back, just barely able to keep her voice from sounding sarcastic.

Regina shook her head. "He doesn't really have any. He's kind of a loner."

The sheriff ducked his head at that, his brow furrowed at that, like her words pained him. Emma processed them for a minute, realizing just how closely they echoed something she'd said not even fifteen hours ago.

She never wanted that for him. He wasn't supposed to be like her.

"Every kid has friends," she mused, hopeful more than anything else. "Did you check his computer? If he's close to someone, he'd be emailing them."

Regina sneered. "And you know this _how_?"

"Finding people is what I do," she said simply. "Here's an idea. How about you guys let me out and I'll help you find him."

Regina left soon after being assured that Graham would bring her over to search. Emma was just glad she was getting out from the holding cell; memories best left forgotten were rearing their ugly head.

As soon as the bars parted, though, his hand was on her arm in a firm grip. She looked him over, trying to push back the electric jolt to focus on the impediment. "What the hell?"

His jaw worked a moment, but his eyes were steely. "Henry has it hard. You're not going to make it any harder on him, understand?"

Her throat closed up, nausea building in her stomach. No. No, it wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to be _happy_. She blinked rapidly, and could only nod.

He eased his grip. "Good." He trailed fingers across the leather on her arm before falling off. "I'm glad you'll help, then. He likes you."

Her forearm tingled and her lungs tightened in one motion. The kid couldn't be attached that quickly; at least her whole mind screamed that he _shouldn't_.

And besides … if she was supposed to be making things easier on Henry, why did it feel like this man was telling her to _stay_?

She stared at him as she brushed her hand over the place his had been. Goosebumps had formed over the space he'd touched, and she wanted to feel it all over again. She did know him, didn't see? How? She would have remembered him, she was sure of it.

With great effort, she stepped out of his space. "We'll start at the kid's room."

There was something here, something she knew was off. But she couldn't care. Not anymore. Not again.

So, she'd help find the kid that wasn't her kid. He had a good thing going here, a good life. He'd see that, and she'd help him get his head on straight.

And then she could work on forgetting every inch of why she wanted to stick around.

 **x**

 _ **Eleven Years Ago**_

 **x**

He wasn't entirely sure why he was keeping her around.

Sure, she didn't belong. She was at a loss with how to deal with anything they came across, from tripping along the stream to the berries they could eat to the terrain she couldn't navigate. She wouldn't last more than a couple hours without him, despite her gruff stubbornness.

But it shouldn't _matter_ to him. The human world never cared when he'd struggled, so why should he care about her?

The last time he'd cared about a human, it had ended in loss and pain. Three of his family members had been killed, along with the man who tried to convince him he was significant. That had been two years ago, and the moment still imprinted on him as a reminder to never hope again.

But … but … he _did_ care.

For some intangible reason, he did. If it was just him depending on his brother's trust of her, it would have faded eventually. But she clung to the part of him that still hoped, that last flicker of optimism that couldn't stop the feeling of 'maybe.' _Maybe_ he could fully trust a human. _Maybe_ she would see him as one in turn.

It was a small flame that he'd never admit to, and never had before. He had thought it extinguished when Fionn died, but apparently his heart still held some kindling.

He glanced up at her, and she smiled as she popped a piece of fruit in her mouth. Her palms were purple, in strong contrast to the golden strands of hair that framed her face. She brushed the tresses that fell in her eye. "Not too bad," she said.

He looked away sharply as he felt the sentiment echo within him. Not too bad. "We don't have much further," he said gruffly.

She sighed and rose, rubbing her stained hands on her pants. "Okay. I'm ready."

He looked her over, his lip twitching slightly. She wasn't near ready. She had been huffing, out of breath and stumbling for most of the trip. He wouldn't have pushed, though, if it wasn't only another fifteen minutes at this pace. Still, he wasn't going to rush her. "There's more of the boar, if you need it."

She shook her head. "No. If you're ready, I'm ready."

He cocked his head to the side. He held out the water skin once more.

Again, she shook her head, her eyes narrowing. "No, I'm fine. _You_ don't need it."

He huffed. "I'm used to this. You aren't."

She frowned deeply. "I hate this," she grumbled and then swiped the skin from his hands. She downed some and then stomped off.

"Emma," he said.

"What?" she grunted.

He felt slightly amused, and jerked his head in the opposite direction. "Wrong way."

She breathed a sigh, eyes quirking. "I just—" she cut herself off, and looking sharply away. She blinked rapidly, focused on the forest floor.

A wave of sympathy hit him, unexpected and confusing. He stepped forward, taking her by the wrist. "It's not much farther," he said, voice soft and gentle like he would use when his brother is agitated. "You can get your bearings once we're there."

She looked down at his grasp, nodding fitfully. She swiped her nose with her sleeve and then looked up with blurry eyes. "This really is real, isn't it?"

He gave a tilt of his head, noncommittal. If she was coming to terms with their reality, it wasn't him that could confirm it. "Come," he pressed.

She nodded, and allowed him to lead this time as they followed the river upstream.

"It's a bit hidden," he said, and took her wrist again to pull her under the lower branches. She followed without protest, even as her shoes slid on the smooth stones that led to the fissure in the boulder hiding the inlet.

When they made their way into the clearing, she stopped. A light laugh escaped her, and she dropped her jacket in the dust. "Wow," she said simply, and twisted in a circle to better take in her surroundings.

He set his things onto a rock, and watched her curiously. She looked … awed. "It's not much …."

"It's _awesome_ ," she declared. A smile stretched across her face and she tilted her face to the sun, reaching outwards.

This place that he had found, that he managed to find the will to share with her … she _appreciated_ it. He watched her for a moment, as her blonde hair fell backwards, as her face warmed in the sunlight. Something unfamiliar fizzled in his stomach, and he quietly admitted to himself that she was beautiful. He swallowed thickly and turned away, trying not to think about it.

She sighed contentedly. "I feel … it feels better here."

He looked at her from the corner of his eye and nodded. "Yes. There's good energy here. It's away from people."

She sat cross-legged in the middle of the forest floor. She pulled through her jacket pockets before retrieving a handful of the berries. "Why don't you like people?"

He sat across from her on an overturned log. His brother made his way through the trees and bounded to them, then abruptly changed direction to splash at the edge of the river. He was still limping, so slight even he couldn't tell at first glance. "They don't like me," he said plainly.

Her bright eyes bounced over him for a minute, and he worried for a moment that she'd disagree. He didn't feel like getting into all the reasons he felt so separate from others. Instead, after a long beat, she shrugged. "It's okay. People don't really like me, either," she admitted.

He cocked his head to the side, studying her again. He couldn't see that, not when she'd gained his trust so _quickly_. He wet his lips and cleared his throat, uncomfortable enough not to protest.

"No, I mean it. I have enough examples over a lifetime. My own parents left me on the side of the road when I was a newborn," she asserted, and then pulled her legs into her chest.

He winced, hands flexing in front of him. "Mine … they left my near the den," he admitted. He couldn't remember ever being that plain in saying it. Even with the old man, he hadn't ever told him straight out; it had only ever been inferred.

She snorted. "God, we're more similar than we thought." Her lip pouted slightly, and she looked up from under her lashes. Cautiously, she scooted closer. "Is that why you're helping? Because you feel like we're the same?" she asked.

He thought about that a moment, twisting his hands together. "Not really. You're …," _too human_ , he wanted to say. But he already has revealed too much about himself right now, and didn't want to get into that. "I don't know. Maybe," he muttered.

She nodded, pulling blades of grass through her fingers. "Okay. Okay, that makes sense," she said.

"But like I said, I'll get you back to town tomorrow. Then you can go home," he said shortly.

She chewed on her lip absently. "Guess that's for the best," she said. "How will I find—you know what, I'll figure it out."

He remembered her mentioning an unfamiliar town, and a frown tugged on his lips. "We'll get a map or something. If you need help—"

"I can help myself," she said stubbornly.

He huffed and rolled his eyes. "Fine. First light, then."

"Fine." She flopped onto her back, glaring up at the cloudy sky.

He pulled out an arrowhead to sharpen as she sulked. The scrape of rock against rock wasn't quite monotone enough for him to tune out the strident undercurrent of this shade of silence. He tried not to glance her way as he worked.

He had never minded silence. He had been taught how to live without language from his family, and being around the townsfolk hadn't made him want to be otherwise. But something about Emma's silence made him prickle.

After a while, his brother trotted up to them. He whined a bit, and finally curled at her side. She reached out and scratched his head as if he were only a pup, though her face was still stern. Amusement trickled through him again, and surprise flited along with it. What was it about this girl that made him feel so … at ease? He ducked his head, and blew out a breath. "Do you want a book?"

Her mouth formed a firm line, and he could tell that she didn't want to give in so soon.

"I don't have many, but there's a couple about the lands. You might find something about your own in one of them," he reasoned. Perhaps she was from a different realm, and that was why she was so confused by this one.

She sighed. "Fine," she conceded, and rolled to her side before rising. She pushed at the earth with her toe, and shrugged one shoulder up. "I guess that's smart."

He walked to the shelter on the far side of the inlet, sorting through the old tomes he'd collected through the years. He finally shook one loose and turned to find her studying them. Her expression was soft, and she leaned down to brush against a few spines. He nudged her with one of the volumes. "Here's one almanac. I think there was something in here about navigating lands."

She took it with care, placing it between her palms before rolling it over. "They're very old," she commented.

He hummed a response. They _were_ old. They were a mixture of one's he'd swiped from stands in town, ones he'd traded for, and ones Fionn had gifted to him early on to learn off of. He'd always tried to go for the well-read books, the ones that looked thumbed through the most. He didn't read often, but when he did he wanted words that were valued.

She cracked open the book, and then peered up at him over its pages. "You're not afraid I'm going to ruin it or something?"

He scooped up another and placed it on top. "No." He walked back to the log at that, and continued his work.

He could feel her stare on his back, but he didn't bother to acknowledge it. It wasn't the same tension as before, instead more anticipatory. Even so, he was nothing if not patient; she would speak when she was ready.

He heard a shuffle as she dragged her feet to the middle of the clearing once more. She sat in front of him, her sea-colored eyes set on him. Finally, she opened the book once more and began to read. "You didn't have to do any of this, but you keep doing it."

His eyes flicked up to hers briefly, before settling on the sharp point. "You're good to him," he explained simply. _You don't seem to hate me_.

His brother's head was flat to the ground, only his eye moving back and forth between them both. She closed her eyes and took a low breath. "I like books," she admitted gruffly.

He paused. That he could discern, of course, but there was something in her body language that hold him not to be cavalier about her confession. "I have ones that are less dry, when you need them."

She nodded sharply, and moved to rest her back to the log, just a couple feet separating them. She placed a finger between the pages and closed the book, tilting her head toward him. "Thank you."

He pressed his lips together. He examined her expression carefully, finding a certain vulnerability there that made his heart stutter. His lashes fluttered across the tops of his cheeks. "You're welcome."

She smiled at him before beginning to read again. He watched her for a moment longer, trying to piece out the alien feelings stirring in him. When he finally turned back to his work, he didn't have an answer to them but he had decided it didn't matter.

Just like that, the silence became companionable.

He just wasn't sure if he should be worried about that fact.


	7. Chapter 7

**Present**

* * *

Emma blew out a breath as she caught sight of the wooden playground. It _did_ look like a castle, she decided. The bones of one, at least. When the school teacher had said to check it, this wasn't exactly what she expected. The beach and the yard was barren, save the little boy atop it.

 _Lonely_ , she'd said. The pang hit her once more. He wasn't supposed to be alone, not like her.

She climbed up the stairs that seemed strangely solid beneath her. It was well-made, at the very least. And she could only imagine what a kid that believed in fairytales would think of a playground castle.

She slid up behind him and sat next to him in the tower. She took the book she'd been holding and held it out to him without preamble. "You left this in my car."

He pressed his lips together, eyes trained beyond the area. He took the book, but made no attempt to look at it or at her.

She looked in the direction, and saw the clock tower. Its hands were in the same place, unchanged. Carefully, she pressed, "still hasn't moved, huh?"

He looked disappointed, his eyes squinting. "I was hoping that when I brought you back, things would change here. That the final battle would begin."

She sighed. "I'm not fighting any battles, kid." Just the internal ones. Like why she wanted to stay so much when she knew it would only lead to bad.

Henry turned to her, determination in his posture. "Yes, you are. Because it's your destiny. You're going to bring back the happy endings."

Emma felt something flicker inside her, something like anger. Couldn't he see? She wasn't _nearly_ that important. "Can you cut it with the book crap?"

He shrugged, and turned to her with a smile. "You don't have to be hostile. I know you like me – I can tell."

Her heart squeezed. There it was again; that smile. It shouldn't be familiar, because she couldn't put a name on the face that she recognized in it. But that didn't matter – she did like this kid. Already. Too much.

"You're just pushing me away because I make you feel guilty."

Yes. Yes, looking at him made her feel guilty. Not in the way he probably means, but guilt would be a word to describe the feeling in her gut. She had always thought giving him up would be best. She had believed it so hard. She was supposed to have been giving him the good life when she had signed on the dotted line. Why was it that she couldn't see any sign of that in his eyes?

"It's okay," he continued, giving a small sure nod. His face was far more serious than any ten-year-old's should be. "I know why you gave me away."

She stared at him, watched as the dark in his green eyes cleared away. The kid knew?

He smiled. "You wanted to give me my best chance."

Oh, Jesus. She blinked a few times, and looked away. Her heart was heavy, and she didn't answer until she was sure her voice wouldn't shake. At least, not completely. "How do you know that?"

She could see him out of the corner of her eye, how he began to fidget. His own voice was strained. "Because it's the same reason Snow White gave you away."

She felt the ire rise within her. "Listen to me, kid." She finally turned to him again. "I'm not in any book. I'm a real person. And I'm no savior."

God, couldn't he see she was a mess? She had trouble holding onto her own life. A survivor, that she might be willing to name herself. A savior made no sense. She hadn't even been able to save him from the life she'd had, not really, not if he truly was as lonely as everyone seemed to say.

"You were right about one thing, though. I wanted you to have your best chance." She took a deep breath, mutinous tears itching at the back of her throat. "But it's not with me."

His face crumpled, but he was trying so hard not to show it. Tears collected beneath her lashes as she watched his own stir in his matching eyes.

She swallowed thickly and pushed off the structure. She was five steps away before she could address him. "Come on, let's go."

" _Please_ don't take me back there. Just stay with me for one week. That's all I ask. One week, and you'll see I'm not crazy."

She turned back to him, her whole body resigned. "I have to get you back to your mom." _I have to leave_.

He shook his head, and she can see the frustration on his face. "You don't know what it's like with her. My life sucks!"

She nearly vibrated in aggravation; couldn't he see? Couldn't he see that all this was better? Better than her? "Oh, you want to know what sucking is? Being left abandoned on the side of a freeway. My parents didn't even bother to drop me off at a hospital. I ended up in the foster system and I had a family until I was three, but then they had their own so then they sent me back."

She sniffed, and tried to regain her composure. She was sure she wasn't successful, but she tried to smile at the boy as she leaned down to his height. "Look, your mom is trying her best. I know it's hard and I know sometimes you think she doesn't love you, but at least she _wants_ you."

 _I wanted you_ , a little voice inside reminded her. She remembered that feeling, so stamped down with every turn she made in the prison, but she remembered that feeling. She had wanted him.

And she needed to get away and get him back to his mom before that feeling came back.

He shook his head, little fists balled at his side stubbornly. He looked so angry, even with the tears staining his face. Oh, it was just like … just like— "Your parents didn't leave you on the side of a freeway. That's just where you came through."

"What?" she asked, confusion splitting her.

"The wardrobe," he said firmly. "When you went through the wardrobe you appeared in the street. Your parents were trying to save you from the curse."

She smiled tightly, her body shaking. She couldn't do this anymore. She couldn't fight. She just wasn't sure she could keep up with it. "Sure they were. Come on, Henry."

His tears were silent, and she could tell he was trying to summon the courage to fight them back. Her heart twisted, and she brushed her own cheeks as they set forward. He reached over and grabbed her hand, and she carefully curled her fingers inward.

This kid. What was she going to do about this kid?

She couldn't even be surprised to see the sheriff's car in the parking lot.

She watched as Henry froze as the car door slammed. Fear struck the depths of her at its sight. But it was just the man, not the mayor, and Henry took off into a run toward him.

She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling empty and so very alone as the kid hit the sheriff's embrace.

She shivered and tried to pretend it was because of the cold.

* * *

 _ **11 Years Ago**_

* * *

She woke in the middle of the night, shivering.

She came to consciousness with some irritation. The night before, she had been perfectly content, even warm. She'd always been able to sleep anywhere, and even in the unfamiliar and unsettling world she'd been just fine.

Now it was as if the temperature had dropped thirty degrees in as many minutes. Her teeth chattered and she curled inward. Ideas of sleep flew out of her grasp as she focused on how uncomfortable it was.

She blinked fully awake and rolled to her back, trying to bury into herself.

It was still dark out, but the moon was full and bright. She sucked in a short breath. It was casting such strong light that it was a wonder to see. Pale yellow-gold, larger than any moon she'd seen before. Despite the cold, she peeled back the furs covering her in order to lean up, marveling at the glow.

It was different. It wasn't like back in Portland, or in Bangor, or in Baltimore, or in Minneapolis. That glow … something about it called to her. A wave of _something_ flowing through her veins, tingling out through her fingers. It reminded her of something in that weird book she'd been reading, something about the energy. She could almost access it, she's sure, if she just put her mind to it ….

A rustle sounded to her right, and she whiplashed to it. She relaxed to see the wolf, its tongue lolling out to see her before it darted into the bushes again. She relaxed as she rubbed her hands over her arms. It was strange how comforting the animal's presence was, how sure she was that it would keep them safe.

Them. That reminded her.

She leaned back onto her makeshift bed and propped her head up on her hand. She looked down over at him. In the moonlight, it was clear enough to make out her companion's sleeping face.

He was on his side, facing her. He was so much softer in dreams, his face relaxed and harder edges smoothing. He looked boyish, closer to the youth than the adult like this, like she must've when she was asleep. His jaw was slack, chest rising and falling rhythmically. His curly hair was mussed, falling across his forehead in soft tendrils. His lashes were longer than she first thought, thick against his high cheekbones. His lips were a warm pink, parted slightly.

Her stomach clenched, realizing that her earlier realization wasn't quite correct. He wasn't attractive.

He was … he was _beautiful_.

Not in the way she'd been conditioned to believe, not from movies or shows or the posters the other girls would hang on their walls back in the foster homes. He was raw and natural, like the clearing in the center of the forest that had taken her breath away. There was more of a wildness to him that those old portrayals didn't allow for, and an innocence despite it all that curled something in her belly.

With strangely tense fingers, she used the hand not supporting her head to flit through a curl on his forehead. He shifted slightly, stirring, and she quickly buried herself in the furs again. She watched aptly, but he didn't wake.

She let out a shuddering breath, and finally leaned back. She stared at the moon again, and used her hands to cover her abdomen. Butterflies had begun within its depth, and she couldn't stop them, as much as she wanted to.

This was too real. It didn't feel like a dream anymore.

Her back ached from sleeping on the ground, and it was a different pain than from before. She had scratches from the branches she'd walked though, and they had added to themselves with that dull hiss and faded to nothingness. She'd had to wander off to relieve herself, and had eaten a considerable amount of foods with unusual flavor profiles. She'd read a book with words she was unfamiliar with, ideas she'd never thought of before. She was tired, and she had slept the night before and had been sleeping just now. Now, she felt awake and with new emotions bubbling in her stomach and increasing at a rapid rate.

Her mind wasn't this creative. This had to be her reality.

She tried to pinpoint exactly when she had made that conclusion, when the last of her denials flew to the wayside. She didn't know exactly. All she knew was that it had to do with _him_.

She shivered again, harder this time.

"You're cold."

She startled and turned to him again. His eyes were still closed, and she was sure she dreamed it. Still, she whispered to be sure, "What?"

His lip quivered, but she couldn't really say that he smiled. "You're cold. Come," he said, and pulled his covering to tent up with his arm. "Share with me."

She sucked in a breath and blushed furiously. "I really don't think—"

"We're near the water, and it gets icy in the morning. I'm used to it, but if you need to share body heat …."

She stiffened and tried to ignore the flush that overtook her body. "Wolf boy, I don't know."

He sighed and rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Your choice. I'm just giving you the option."

She hesitated, then finally scooted closer. He took her wordless answer in stride, and welcomed her into the fold of the blanket.

Every move was chaste, something he must've done with the wolf before. But her body tremored, and she couldn't help the spread of heat as he held her. She swallowed when he tucked her close, bodies lining up carefully. Being warm enough was no longer a concern.

"I'm glad you've chosen not to freeze." His voice was gruff with drowsiness in her ear, accent rumbly against her back as he actually _joked_ with her.

She nodded, and tried not to think of how _right_ it felt to lay with him like this. She moved her hands to cover his across the bottom of her ribs, skin sliding against skin until the butterflies hummed into something lower in her stomach.

"You okay?"

She nodded again, not trusting her voice. She struggled against the reaction her mind was telling her to be, trying to force herself tense in order to block from any attachment. She needed sleep, and this was fine. It was _fine_.

If it happened to be that she _liked_ being this close to him, that was _nothing_.

"We can go to town tomorrow."

She nodded and pushed back into him. "Okay."

"Did you find your realm in the book?"

She hesitated. His thumb had moved with his words, moving the fabric of her shirt along her stomach. "I don't know," she replied.

She liked books. They had always provided an escape for her, and she usually chose fantasy above all else. The book he'd given her was more clinical, scientific in nature while talking about magic and creatures and different lands. It reminded her just a bit of the Harry Potter novels, but it was so different at the same time. But there had been mention, barely a blurb, about a land without magic.

If this was real, that's where she'd be from, right?

"I'll help in the morning. Let's just sleep for now."

She nodded. She didn't really feel like sleep was close anymore, not when she was trying _not_ to make sense of the feelings swirling in her. He was so close; he smelled like pine and fire, and his presence was at once soothing and igniting.

This was dangerous. She didn't know how to deal with this.

He was silent, and with great effort she was, too. They settled into each other, bodies merging into one being.

Eventually, the steady rhythm of his heart soothed her, and her eyelids drooped heavily. She felt curiously safe, so much more than she should feel.

If this place and vision was real … if she allowed herself to believe it like she thought she had … he was the reason she felt _right_ with it.

Had she been more awake, the thought might have scared her. As it was, she settled against him and slowly she let herself drift without a care.

Before she surrendered, she had one final thought. She felt like part of her clicked in his embrace, like some pit inside her finally sealed.

She felt like she belonged.


	8. Chapter 8

Guest Comments

 **Guest** : Thank you so, so much! I am so glad you are enjoying this! I have such an issue with slow burn, so this is coming pretty slow from my muse. I am glad you are willing to keep up with it! I think one more chapter of the chronological story line before I am going to skip ahead a bit, but we shall see!

* * *

Chapter 8

* * *

 _ **Present**_

It was intriguing, watching her work.

Her manner was all business, hands quick against the keys and spoken words perfunctory. Regina lingered off in the distance, pacing the length of Henry's bed and fiddling with the items on his nightstand. It allowed him to crouch next to the blonde to watch her, to study the determination and barely-there worry behind it.

It was good that she worried, he decided. It meant that behind the professionalism and stoicism, there was care.

And the more he watched, the more her brow furrowed, the more her lips twitched, the more she shifted toward him subconsciously, he felt the same burn through him that made him take attention the night before.

He was concerned for Henry, of course he was; that was the first thing on his mind. But hovering in her space was something that caught electricity across his chest.

"Smart kid," she muttered, and he couldn't help the quirk of his lips. "He cleared his inbox. I'm smart, too. A little hard disk recovery utility I like to use."

He swallowed, and watched the screen as she installed the file. "I'm a bit more old-fashioned in my techniques. Pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, that sort of thing."

She tensed when he spoke but didn't look up. Her answer was cool, and she focused on her typing. "You're on salary. I get paid for delivery. Pounding the pavement is not a luxury that I get."

He wished he could manage something more, could coax a more direct reaction out of her. The screen beeped and he looked up again. This was for Henry, he reminded himself. Perhaps she had ways he was ignorant of that could help him track the lad down easier next time.

"Huh. His receipt for a website – . It's expensive. He has a credit card?"

Regina scoffed, a rustle sounding as she slammed Henry's history textbook closed. "He's _ten_ ," she said impatiently.

"Well, he used one. Let's pull up a transaction record."

Graham absently patted his wallet, wondering if he was missing any cards.

"Mary Margaret Blanchard. Who's Mary Margaret Blanchard?"

His mouth parted as he realized what must've happened.

"Henry's teacher." He could hear the disdain in Regina's voice as she replied, felt the weight of the words.

Poor Mary Margaret. She tried so hard with Henry, something that the older woman did not appreciate in the least. He knew what Regina could do, had done before, will do again, in targeting the schoolteacher. This only added fuel to the already brewing fire.

"Well, she'd be the one to check with first," Emma said, snapping the drive from the computer before rising.

He nodded and stood as well. "Of course. I'll grab the cruiser—"

"Sheriff, I'm sure that's not necessary," Regina said, her tone sharp. "I can collect my son on my own. You should get back to the station."

His skin itched, heat brewing in barely-there annoyance. But his mouth shut, and he found himself nodding.

Emma crossed her arms in front of her chest, green eyes flicking up and down. "Then we're taking your car?" she pressed.

He looked up in surprise, amusement filling him that she wouldn't give up so easily.

Regina snarled and ignored her completely, pushing past her to slam down the stairs with quick, measured heel clicks.

Emma sighed, and he could see the frustration painted on her face. With boldness he didn't know he possessed, he grabbed her wrist to get her attention. It wasn't like releasing her from the cell; that at least was conscious and more to ground his statement. This was at least in part to be able to touch her again, and also to gain and focus her attention. She looked at him as if just allowing herself to, disquiet across her features.

He nodded down the path Regina took. "It's off of Main. Storybrook Elementary; you can't miss it. If you hurry, you'll even beat her there."

She tipped her head in concession. Her fingers coiled along his wrist and carefully removed him. He pressed his lips together, hovering in her space. "Thanks," she said after a beat, her voice winded. She turned and left without a second glance.

He sighed at the state of the empty room, the absence of both women doing wonders to clear his head. He looked to the far wall and caught sight of Henry's cardboard sword. In an instant, he knew where the kid had gone and cursed himself for not thinking of it before.

In the numerous times the boy had run off, he'd be found most often in two places: just beside the toll bridge or up in the tower of his playground castle. He heard the sound of the door slam and looked out the window to see a flash of red and blonde storm down the sidewalk into the distance.

The static across his chest intensified as he swung his keys out of his pocket.

 _Get back to the station._

He gritted his teeth and grasped the doorframe as the words came back to him. He needed to go back. He was the sheriff, there were things to be done.

His head pounded, and he was at the cruiser before he could even think. There was just paperwork waiting for him; his radio was at his hip. He didn't need to go, did he?

Except … except he did.

He nodded once to himself, the order melting off. He'd swing by the station first. Maybe it was instinct? He'd check on it.

But _then_ he'd go to the castle. Because no matter what, Henry'd need him.

Or maybe not him.

He made a fist and rested his head against the steering wheel. He wanted to be there for him. It ached how much he did. But maybe the lad needed someone else first.

The trip to the station was short and utterly useless. The empty ring of silence was all that greeted him. Not even Leroy was there to disturb the dust of the place. At the very least, his head stopped screaming to the point where he could drop a folder on the desk and head right back out into the fog.

When he pulled into the parking lot, the wind was whipping across the beach. Two figures stood across from each other just in front of the castle. He could see from a distance the hunched shoulders and frustration in the boy.

He waited, watching the two interact. His chest was tight, swelling with emotion that seemed both familiar and more intense than anything he'd felt in ages. They looked connected, even at a distance and even with the gesticulating that indicated an argument.

And then Emma straightened, her face carefully masked but a sheen on pain spread underneath. Henry's head hung low, little fists balled tight beside him. He knew he could interrupt now.

They began to walk back, and he could tell instantly when they saw the cruiser. He carefully exited, the hinges squeaking as he did. Henry paused for a moment before tearing into a run.

He was altogether shocked when Henry slammed into him. Graham could feel the tears soak into his shirt before it really occurred to him that the boy was hugging him. It felt natural to scoop him close, to feel as he slumped against him exhaustedly.

He tried to stamp down the protectiveness flaring within him, the instant reaction to growl and snarl at anything causing him pain. He reminded himself that Henry was not his and that he could not claim him, that he had no business defending him against this woman. Even though parts of him _screamed_ in difference.

He looked up, catching ocean-shaded eyes as he glanced over the boy's head. She looked devastated, her heartbreak clear across her face. The defenses gave way, collapsing. And there was envy, too, as she watched them, barely-there.

He curled Henry closer in his arms. He had never been this close to the boy, and it flicked something inside him, something warm and gentle. He couldn't help but feel that the connection he felt to the woman across the beach had to do with this child—but maybe not in the way that was most obvious.

Why was it that he wanted to bring her into the fold, to hold her close as well?

* * *

 _ **Eleven Years Ago**_

* * *

When he woke, she was still curled in his arms.

He was used to his brother pressing against him when the weather dropped, firmly but unobtrusively next to him. It was what he thought it would be when he offered to share the space in the dark.

This was not that.

Emma and he had shifted in the night, and now she was draped on top of his chest, arms tucked around him. She was fully asleep, breaths even and heavy and warm into his neck. Blonde hair was scattered messily across his cheek, bright and soft and earthy-smelling. The furs covered them, trapping in the heat, but even he had somehow tangled into her. His own arm was looped to pull her closer in sleep, chin notched up and then relaxed down to accommodate her head into the crook of his neck.

He was so used to feeling the chill of the morning air, and the drop in temperature was usually the first thing to wake him. Now, though, he still felt drowsy with her heat surrounding him. It felt … natural.

It was grey out and the fog was rolling in from the river and misting through the trees. The arm wrapped around her ribs tightened reflexively to the reminder of ice before he fully realized what he was doing.

His palm dropped to the forest floor as if she'd burned him, and he rolled out from under her.

She began to stir in the new cold, and he watched her aptly as he scooted back. One eye popped open and she groaned. "It's too early," she muttered, and then buried her nose into the furs once more.

His cheek twitched and he walked to the hearth he'd begun yesterday. "It's past dawn," he said, shrugging. He had slept far longer than normal already, and he was still struggling past the feelings of peace she'd left within him. He brushed the morning frost off the logs and inspected the wetness. The bottom of the pit was dry enough to light the fire.

She mumbled something in half-sleep before a pale hand reached beyond their bedding to the book she'd left. It disappeared into the covers surrounding her.

"You said you weren't sure if you found it, then? Anything look familiar?" he asked.

She sighed. "The Land Without Magic makes the most sense," she grumbled.

He paused over the fire, brow furrowing. "Without magic?" he asked.

The furs opened and she leaned up. "Yeah. Look, wolf boy, I never thought magic was real, okay? This is all," she gestured around her dismissively and huffed. Her forehead was wrinkled; she looked distressed. "I don't understand how this could be real."

He cocked his head to the side to study her. "I suppose that's where you're from, then," he mused. This could prove difficult.

"I don't know anything on how to travel to other realms, but I think going to a place without magic is going to be a little difficult, don't you?" she asked, her breaths hitching. "Dammit, I don't even know how I got here in the first place!"

He poked at the logs thoughtfully. She seemed at a brink, and he chose his words carefully. "Maybe we work backward. Figure out how you got here?"

She scoffed. "I guess," she muttered, then shivered.

He sat up straighter. "You're cold again. Come. Bring the fur."

She threw a glare but did so grudgingly. She huffed as she sat on the fallen tree, and leaned forward to warm her hands over the fire.

"I have some of the boar. We can eat some of that before we go sell the rest in town," he said, glancing at the bag of salted meat.

"'Kay," she replied, and pulled her knees to her chest. She looked small, tucked into the fluff and dark of the hides and continued to shiver.

He took out his knife and sliced a section of the flank before placing it onto a stick. When he leveled it over the flames, he looped an arm around her to bring her close. His full intention was to simply warm her up, but when his skin touched hers he was surprised at how comfortable he felt. She was stiff as her goosebumps retreated, but finally began to meld into him exactly as her green eyes set on the food.

"Do _you_ think we'll figure out where I belong, wolf boy?" she asked softly after a long beat.

He looked down at her, and then at the meat. He watched the flames licking across it thoughtfully a long moment. "I'm sure we will," he finally said. If she made it here, there had to be a way.

"Okay," she said softly, her long lashes skimming her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut. "Okay," she repeated. She turned to bury her nose into his shoulder, her gaze still locked on the fire.

Her scent washed over him, warm and comforting and surprising in how it affected him. He wanted to protect her, wanted her to find her place. It felt like something important, something that was never done for him by a person but something he _could_ do for her. Even if it meant that she would leave.

He pulled the meat to check it, and then offered her a skewer wordlessly. She took it from him and cocked her head to the side to study him. She said nothing, but her lips curled up as she took a bite.

Their breakfast was in silence, the wolf only emerging to watch and not even partake. He only sat at the edge of the camp, head flat to the earth. It was almost like he could tell the strange aura that had come over them, the overlap of the foreign and the fated.

When the sun crested over the hills, he nodded once. "We should get going. The market will be busy enough."

She gripped his arm, and he looked down to find her eyes wide. "The men won't be there, will they?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "I rather doubt it. But he'll stay behind for this."

She looked to the wolf and then finally rose. She sat beside him and tentative reached to touch his head. It wasn't exactly a stroking motion, but his brother immediately rolled over, tongue lolling out happily. She looked somewhat melancholy as she scratched under his chin. "I'm ready," she finally said.

A spike of something like disappointment hit him, and he carefully tucked it away. He shifted to pull his rucksack over his shoulder and gestured to the enclave. "It should be a shorter walk than yesterday."

She grimaced as she looked down at her dirty, strange shoes. "But I'm used to the long walks now."

Amusement flickered in him. "Then this should be easy."

They exchanged glances, not quite smiling, but definitely with something shared. She grabbed her jacket and tugged it on. "Let's go, then."

She pushed into him, shoulders bumping as they strolled to town.

He looked down at her curiously. It was oddly comforting. In all the strange nuances of human life and this particular human herself, this was familiar. It felt like when his brothers would nudge him affectionately, playfully. He _understood_ this reaction.

He swallowed slightly before dipping to nudge her back.

He found that a smile played openly on her features for once. And he was surprised to find himself smiling back.

Her hand reached out and caught his as the shape of the buildings came into view. He found his own fingers curling around hers, and not out of necessity.

It just felt right.

Which is why he could admit to himself that he would miss her when he found her home.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

* * *

 **Present**

* * *

She shook her head as she stomped back down the path, the ring of the mayor's lie resounding in her head.

One week, he'd asked for. She was willing to give him that based on the woman's cold reaction.

 _I will destroy you if it is the last thing I do._

She was furious, and frustrated, and her mind throbbed in the reality that her "good ideas" seemed doomed to fail. This was the exact opposite of what she wanted.

She stumbled as the gate closed, finding the police cruiser still running in the street. The sheriff's arms were crossed over his chest, expression dark and thoughtful.

She hesitated a moment and then placed her hands on her hips. "Thanks. For letting me take him back," she said. She was still a little unsure why he made the decision to allow her to ride back with them and then stayed behind as Henry was dropped off. She was fairly certain that it was either about making a point to or placating the mayor. Either idea made her uneasy.

He looked up, posture unchanged. "You'll stay, then."

She jerked back. It wasn't a question, and she wasn't sure what he thought of it. She frowned. "Just a week," she said firmly. No longer. She just needed to … check.

He looked at her a long, uneasy moment. Finally he dropped his arms and nodded. "Yes. That should be good."

She took a step closer. "You'd be okay with that?" she asked. The angry look he'd given when Henry was in tears was sharp in her mind, though so was the eventual softness after he took in her expression.

He gave a small quirk of the lips. "Good for our tourist business."

"Sure," she said warily.

He shrugged a shoulder. "Bad for our local signage."

She rolled her eyes at the lame joke, but felt relieved that he had decided to jest. She stepped off the curb onto the street beside him. "You said something about a Bed and Breakfast?"

He nodded. "Granny's. Up the road a bit. I could show you?"

She cocked her head to the side, wondering just what his deal was.

She had felt sick when she'd watched the sheriff brush tears from Henry's face in the parking lot by the beach. The wind had drowned out any soothing words for her ears, though they were obvious even meters away. Henry'd had his head hung low, not dipping up once when the embrace finally broke. She had felt awkward and out of place, but too unsure of herself to move.

She had just needed to be sure he was okay.

The sheriff had been careful, and after a long moment a small smile was coaxed on the boy's face. There had been something beautiful in seeing them together, in witnessing the first time something other than her made the kid smile in this town, the first time true care and attention was lavished upon Henry. The kid lapped it up eagerly, easing from the frustrated and tearful boy he'd been moments before.

But it had looked like a first time, not something commonplace. And so she was left to wonder.

She looked up to the mansion and then back down at him. "Do you care about him?" she asked, her tone accusing.

His eyebrows raised and his mouth parted. A long beat passed. "I—Regina doesn't like—it's not my place," he finally said stumblingly.

She pressed her lips together. "But you do," she finished.

He met her gaze. "But I do," he agreed.

She swallowed, wondering if such a simple statement was supposed to ignite so much affection in her belly. She wanted to take that last step to him, to grab him by that damn leather collar and kiss him hard.

She thought she knew exactly how he'd taste.

"Let's see that B&B," he said, and pushed off the side of the car to open the passenger door.

She felt the disappointment acutely, and thought she found the matching emotion in him. His brow was creased and he licked his lips before walking around. She climbed into the seat somewhat reluctantly.

The interior was warm, hot air blowing through the vents. The radio was on but low, some old 80s love song barely discernable. When he creaked open his door and slid into the driver's seat, she gripped the dash and tried not to focus on him.

He pulled into the foggy evening soundlessly. Tension was thick, spiraling and looping through the cabin and anticipation was in his every breath. "Do you care?"

She looked up. He was focused on the road ahead, so intense that she wondered first if she imagined the question. She grimaced and looked out the window to the trees darting past. A long moment passed. "She said that I tossed him aside. I didn't," she offered solemnly.

He nodded thoughtfully. "Do you mind if I ask—"

She huffed a laugh and watched the dark roll of fog. "Seventeen."

He looked over quickly, dark eyes sweeping across her face.

"The father was already long gone. Before I even knew," she continued stiffly.

His right hand tensed into a fist before releasing to make a turn.

She blew out a low breath. "I couldn't have had him in the beginning. And I was in no position to take him when I could have, anyway."

He mercifully didn't ask her to clarify. "So you decided that adoption was the best option. That's not tossing him away," he agreed, his lilting accent pleasantly soft on the words.

She adjusted her back against the seat and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. "He was supposed to have a good life. That's what they promised," she said. Why was she even answering these non-questions? She had no obligation to this man.

Except … except he cared about Henry. He seemed the only one. And so he deserved to know why she _couldn't_.

"He was supposed to be happy," she finished.

The sheriff pulled up in front of an old cottage-style home with a swinging sign. He shut off the engine, but didn't move. He gripped hard along the steering wheel, eyes squeezed shut.

She carefully reached forward and placed her hand over his elbow, eyes set on his when he finally opened his own. "Is he happy?"

His brow was furrowed deeply and he pressed his lips together. There was a storm in his grey-blue eyes, one that put her on edge. "You should get a room."

"Graham," she said insistently, the first time she'd used his name. " _Is he happy_?"

He sighed heavily, red cracks marking the edges of the whites of his eye. "He stole a credit card and traveled over 200 miles to get you to come here to change his life. What do you think?"

She looked away sharply. "Is it her?" she asked.

Warm fingers set on top of her hand, and she looked to see she was still touching his arm. It had felt so natural. "He doesn't talk about it much," he said, then dropped her hand onto the seat.

"But you think it's her," she discerned.

"I can't say for sure," he protested.

She gave a pointed look. "You're a cop. Part of your skill set should be being observant, right?"

"Yes."

She tossed up her hands. "Then?"

He waited a beat. "Yes."

Her vision blurred, her stomach turning. She blinked rapidly and looked out the window. "Is she hurting him?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"Not physically. Like I said, he doesn't talk about it much. But I'd like to think I'd see it if she was hurting him like that," he said, voice strained.

Her face twisted and she struggled to keep the emotion back. Physically was one thing, but she had enough in her life to know it wasn't the _only_ bad thing. "She doesn't love him," she noted, the truth behind the woman's lie finally bleeding over into words. It felt concrete and also deafening to voice.

"I don't think she can," he murmured. "She goes through the motions. She says the words. She buys him things. But … but Henry knows. I think that's what hurts him most."

She slumped back against the seat. She felt drained and hopeless all of a sudden. "This was supposed to be his best chance," she said numbly.

Warmth appeared again, and she looked to see him wrapping his hand in hers. "It's a good thing you're staying the week."

She held stiff, not daring to relax into the seamless fit of their skin. "Is it?"

He nodded. His cobalt eyes were hard to break away from, and her lower lip trembled slightly under the power of the gaze. "I think it'll be good for you both."

She turned her head and rested against the headrest, considering his handsome face a long moment. The smell of leather pushed against some locked memory, and she could almost see those sharp lines and soft lips in the foreground of a forest canopy. She blinked and it was gone.

Something about this town was messing with her head. But there was a connection here, linked with that kid with the sweet, sad, hopeful demeanor.

What was she supposed to do with this information? How could a week help with a kid whose mother didn't or couldn't love him?

His thumb rolled across the webbing between her thumb and forefinger, the callous of it sparking across her skin. She thought about Henry's tight hug on him, how eager this man had been to help and comfort. At the very least, she could facilitate that connection with someone in that kid's life who cared. It would make leaving feel better.

Even if _she_ wanted to be the one to help him feel better. She couldn't. She wasn't equipped. She _couldn't_.

The car was chilling without the heat, and she blew out a low fog of breath. Finally, she squeezed his hand, the only reply she could manage.

* * *

 _ **Eleven Years Ago**_

* * *

Their hands remained linked the entire rest of the journey through the forest. It was reassuring, that steady curl of fingers against hers, cautious yet firm. They'd come a long way in a short time, but she didn't know what would happen once they reached the place he wanted to go. She had a gnawing fear that it would mean their separation, and she wasn't entirely sure why it scared her so badly.

She peeked up at him through her lashes, watching as he navigated them through the low branches. Her palms felt sweaty despite the chill of the mid-morning air.

After a while, she noticed that the trees were getting thinner, and the distant buzz of a crowd was getting closer.

"So … this is it," she murmured, looking over the village that appeared once the trees parted.

Her companion nodded, swift eyes sweeping over the activity. "Does anything look familiar to you at all?"

She looked around. The sky was bright azure and cloudless, the mist having burned off in their journey. A smattering of tawny wooden buildings jutted along the outer edges of the bare earthen streets, a covered well marking the center. The town was bustling with activity, and people crowded the market stands in dark, rough clothing. They tended to children and farm animals, yelling prices and amounts to one another.

It was just shy of cliché. She had seen enough movies set in medieval towns. She thought she remembered some Heath Ledger movie with nearly the same set up. Maybe even a Disney flick with a song to go along with it.

It was nothing at all like the busy cityscape she had darted out of with her pockets full, not at all like the street she had been running down to catch up with Neal.

She wondered, for the first time since coming to the conclusion that this place was real, how long she had before she would start to really panic. "No," she answered at long last, squeezing his hand reflexively.

He pressed his lips together. His stormy eyes were pensive, worried. He was the one touchstone she had in this place, and he was still brand new. Newer than even Neal. The trust she put in him almost automatically was a little alarming, but it was there all the same.

He tugged her hand, keeping grasp on her as they weaved through the crowd. Some women and men threw looks at him, at _them_ , that were less than pleasant. Tossing her shoulders back, she attempted to match his stony demeanor, catching the ones that scowled with a glare of her own.

After some time, he nodded to a far stall. "Maybe the bookshop. Check, and I can sell the extra meat in the meantime."

Panic climbed inside her as he left just as quickly. She brushed her hands over her arms, worry pulling her eyebrows together. He was just going to leave her there?

She swallowed and cautiously walked to the vendor he'd indicated, pulling her sleeves down by her thumbs. She felt like she stuck out like this, all in her jeans and plaid. Every other woman, young and old, was in a dress of plain muslin in earthy colors with aprons pinned around their waist. Even her loose blonde hair felt out of place. Self-consciously, she set on braiding it as she looked at the books.

How the hell was she supposed to know how to get back from these? It looked like each one was either a fairytale or a recipe book. There was no sight of even the pretty leather-bound tomes he had at the camp, the ones that had that deep, pleasant aged smell to them. She huffed a sigh and yanked a far book to her to skim through the pages, watching different birds fly past on the paper.

"You got money for that?"

She looked up at the sunburned face of the owner. She hadn't even seen him approach, and now he was bearing down on her with dark, accusing eyes. His tuft of red hair jutted out at odd angles, and his nose had been bent and broken many times over. His frame was short but stocky, sleeves rolled up to show off his well-muscled forearms. He didn't look like any librarian or book store owner she'd ever seen; he looked like someone you wouldn't ever mess with.

She quickly set the book on top of the rest. "I was just looking," she said defensively.

He sneered, showing blackened teeth. "Looking. Sure. Not from around here, are ya?"

She squared her shoulders and planted her feet. "No. What's it to you?" she demanded.

He glowered. "If you were, you'd know not to touch my books without havin' money to spend on 'em," he replied.

"She has money," the boy cut in coolly, slinging his now empty bag over his shoulder. "Not to spend here, though."

"I have no use for your kind, Mutt," the man glowered. He jerked his head to the side. "Begone with you. Ain't nobody wants your kind of business."

"Come, Emma," he said, tugging her by the elbow.

She tossed a glare at the shopkeeper before falling into pace with him. "Idiot," she muttered.

"You're real good at making an impression, aren't you?" he asked, amusement in his tone.

"Splendid," she said through her teeth. She sighed. "I didn't get any info, though."

A hefty woman shoulder-checked him, knocking him barely off balance. "Mongrel," she sneered, and walked past.

He stiffened slightly, then grabbed her hand again. "I should have known it would be a long shot," he murmured.

"Wolf boy," she said softly, tightening her grip.

He shook his head and guided her towards the edges of town, past the vegetable stands and masonry shops. It was obvious he didn't want to talk about the disdain and outright hate these people showed.

"Where to next?" she asked instead.

He blew out a breath and licked his lips, casting a look across the town. "We need to find something on … I don't know. Portals or something? And we might need to find a magic user to get you home."

Home. Was that what Portland was supposed to be? She shrugged. "So how do we go about that?"

He scratched the back of his neck, looking around a little helplessly. "I don't actually know," he admitted.

She swallowed thickly. So, there was a chance, then, that she was stuck. Stuck in some land with fairies flying around. Stuck in some place where people ran around with knives and swords. Stuck with … well, stuck with him.

She looked down as they passed by a blacksmith. She watched the hearth a long moment, the red golds of the fire as she contemplated. "What'll happen if I can't find out how to make it back?"

He stopped, brow creasing. He looked at her a long moment. "What do you want to do?"

She hesitated. "It'd make the most sense to stay with you. At least until we can find my way."

He swallowed visibly. "Okay."

She kicked a stone, refusing to meet the steely blue of his eyes. "I mean, if it's not too much of an inconvenience or anything."

He tugged her closer by the hand, shoulder knocking into hers. "It wouldn't be an inconvenience."

She let a cautious smile grace her face and she looked up. "Yeah?"

He was relaxed, sky bright around him like a halo. "Yeah."

Her stomach fizzled, and she hid her face shyly. Maybe being stuck wouldn't be so bad. And maybe … maybe being stuck with him wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe she'd find her home.


	10. Chapter 10

**Interludes**

* * *

 ** _Eleven Years Ago_**

* * *

It had been weeks, and she was no closer to getting back to Portland.

She wasn't even sure what was waiting for her there, or if she even wanted to return. The more she stayed, the more it seemed like she was just in the same situation she was there. No home, no money, no stability.

She just wished there was some things she could do herself around here.

She couldn't hunt, she couldn't cook. She didn't even have the money to buy food or clothing from the stands they passed on their journeys back and forth into towns. Beyond that, she doesn't even have the skill to swipe anything from them.

But here she had him, at least, to help her find some semblance of those things.

She cursed to herself as she struggled to fit the neck of the dress over her head. She didn't want to depend on anyone else. She didn't need people.

She used to be able to do everything on her own. Granted, Neal had helped the last week before she'd got there. He had more knowledge at his twenty-five years, had had cool jobs and knew about stretching what little money they had …. They had gotten into a bout of one-upping each other, or she would dumb herself down so he could "teach" her things. But that was different. She didn't _depend_ on Neal.

She hated that she depended on the wolf boy for everything out there.

Maybe that was a reason to get back. At least she knew how things worked over in her world, could make it work on the streets. Out here was wolves and fairies and mean townspeople and a strange feeling that swelled up at night that she just didn't understand.

And also him. She looked around the trunk of the tree, finding him sitting at the fire pit. His back was turned, and she could make out the muscles over his shoulder blades as he struck a rock to start the fire.

She blushed slightly, feeling the other thing to worry about spark in her stomach. She didn't want to think about how spending all this time together was something she enjoyed, and not just for the sake of her wellbeing.

She stepped out from behind the tree, smoothing down the rough fabric. It was a long, large, dusty colored dress, and very ill-fitting. He had returned to camp before she woke this morning with it. He admitted he had noticed the caked on mud, grass stains, and blood on her jeans and presented the clothing to her awkwardly during their morning meal.

He glanced up when she cleared her throat, eyes sweeping over her form. "It's a bit big," he commented.

She looked down and shrugged. "At least I'll fit in a bit more when we go into town," she said. "Maybe a belt?"

He rose and wiped his hands on his pants. "It won't help the shoulders. They're falling off you."

She turned her head, finding the slip of material exposing her collarbone. She shrugged. "I guess it's a little less modest that what the other women wear when we go out."

He gave the bare smile that she had gotten used to before he reached into his bag. "I've a needle and thread, if you want it to fit better."

She glowered at him, irritation rolling through her to replace the spark of attraction. Yet _another_ thing she couldn't do. "I don't need you doing anything else for me," she grit out.

He raised his hands in deference to her tone, and sat back on the log. "I could teach you, if you want?" he offered, blue eyes wide and unsure.

She bit her lip and pulled at the skirt of her dress. It hung loose over her waist, and the neck swung in a mass of fabric that she could only pull to bunch over her back or stomach. It was definitely too big, and it would definitely be helped by a little tailoring. "You won't take over?" she asked cautiously.

He shook his head. "Not if you don't want me to."

She hesitated and then joined him near the fire, watching the flames dance for a moment. She grimaced and turned to the tree line. "I need to change out of it again?"

He shook his head and took her wrist to pull her to standing. He grasped the excess fabric at the left of her hip and bunched it, then reached for a pen in his bag. "Mark it first."

She shivered, feeling as his knuckles accidentally brushed her waist through the thick fabric. They never really touched outside of sleep and holding each other's hand. Being in his space seemed too close, and she looked up at him through her lashes as she made a curve on the fabric.

"Good, now here," he indicated, nodding to the other bunch in hand.

His feet were now planted right in front of her, his tall form insulating her from the breeze off the creek. His head was tucked down to reach her, and his brow was furrowed in concentration. Her hands shook as she made her next mark, jagged and staccato since she kept looking for his face.

"Okay, now the shoulders," he said, and loosened his grip. He hesitated, and met her eye. "I'll need to do those, if you let me."

She nodded. She watched his face carefully as he pulled the shoulders up, expression attentive. "Where'd you learn this, anyway?"

He shrugged up one shoulder. "I make my own things. Have to out here. When I was younger someone taught me."

She glances down at his clothing, the wide stiches on his bag and the neat ones at the hem of his kerchief. She should have guessed, but they had wandered into town so often over the past weeks that she had just assumed he had traded for his things just like he traded for different foods.

"I used to trade for heavier clothing during the winter," he continued, dark lashes moving across his cheek as he explained. "But I taught myself from how they were made, too, until I could do it myself."

"Oh," she said simply, trying to find a coherent answer in herself.

He glanced up, noticing her stare. "I don't usually like to go to town as often as we do," he explained.

She frowned. "Well, why are we, then?"

He looked slightly embarrassed, made his mark, and then stepped back a few paces. "I don't have enough for us both."

Oh. She crossed her arms. "I don't need charity."

He kicked at a stone in his path and nodded to the tree. "Change."

She huffed and stormed off, grabbing her dirty clothes along the way.

"It's not charity."

He had waited until she was behind the tree to speak, so she poked her head around to glare at him pointedly. "How is it not?" she spit back, and then stepped back into her jeans.

He sighed heavily. She yanked her tank down over her head and brought the dress over her arm before stepping back to the camp. He had his head cocked to the side, studying her. "I don't usually like having people around. They never like me, I never like them."

She stopped short, tensing in shock. Bitterness trickled within her, so much she could taste it, like salt water at the back of her throat. She squared her shoulders. So, this was it. He'd make her leave, so he could be alone again. She would go off and try to make it on her own.

She wondered why the thought of leaving him made her heart heave more than the idea of the unfamiliar.

His hand shot out and grabbed hers before she could think, and he locked eyes with her as their fingers entwined. "I think you should stay as long as you want."

She froze. His eyes were bluer, messy curls wandering into them. He looked boyish and pleading, those big eyes asking her not to make him say the words. _I don't like people, but I like you._ She bit her lip, and ducked her head. Her heart hammered in her chest. "Okay."

He released her hand, a blush rising in his cheeks. "Okay."

They sat, barely looking at each other as he retrieved a needle and thread. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and she wiped her hands over her jeans a few times. "Thanks," she said.

He looked up, but only threaded the needle in hand.

Her shoulder rose and she crumpled the fabric on her lap. "For teaching me, instead of just doing it for me," she offered.

He barely smiled, eyes flicking up to hers before darting away. "I'll teach you whatever you want," he said simply and handed her the needle.

She felt her face warm, and smiled back at him shyly. She believed him.

He guided her through her first stitch, careful to keep his hands from touching her as she worked. After the first messy attempts, she looked up at his eyes again.

Mentally, she added another point in the "pro" column for staying.

* * *

Time passed quickly in her presence.

His brother was comfortable with her to the point that it was incomprehensible. He was fully healed now, but he still continued to laze near her whenever she was reading, tending to back up to her and keep watch when she wandered away to bathe. He'd never known the wolf to act this way around any human.

He noticed that he was getting as comfortable and protective of her as the animal was, too.

He didn't understand why he liked being around her.

She was easy to be around, for certain. Though she her emotions could whiplash, bitter and defensive just as often as soft and patient, she never stayed harsh for long. Her presence became comfort more akin to his family than any person he'd ever met. But the feeling was different than that, too: it wasn't like with his brother, what he felt for her.

He just didn't have the words to describe what it could be.

He looked up from his book, staring at her between trying to read about tannery. He wasn't sure he had retained any of the last six pages of the book and he'd read the same paragraph about nine times.

She was in the patch of sun the canopy of trees in their little space created. On her stomach, legs kicked up, and her nose in one of his other books. Her skin was a soft peachy color in the light, her hair still as golden as ever. She looked engrossed in the pages, focused. He liked that she enjoyed what little he had.

She glanced up, smiling and blushing a little before going back to her page, teeth worrying her lower lip ever so slightly.

His brother made a low noise and rolled over, catching the rays of sun as well and nuzzling up to her. His good eye shut to a squint, lazy and relaxed.

He rather enjoyed when they had a chance to just be quiet in each other's presence.

She turned a page and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "When do we have to go back to town?" she asked.

He put his book to the side and glanced up at the mountains across the inlet. The snows were almost melted. "We have enough things for the next couple days. Why? You want to go in?"

They had been to several of the villages at the forest's edge. He had been to most before, always the same disdain and unease felt from the inhabitants each time.

It was easier to blend with her, especially once he'd gotten her the dress he'd bartered for. People didn't stare and comment under their breath half as much when she was at his side, though once he _was_ recognized the sneers were perhaps a little harsher.

He had never really cared about these people's opinions, anyway, though it did make his trips much simpler now. Having her at his side was more than that, though. He found that he simply liked her company.

"No," she replied with a shake of her head. She stretched her arms out and then reached to touch the scruff of the wolf's neck tentatively before he let her scratch him. "I'm actually kinda comfortable here. I'd rather stick around a bit."

His ears perked up, and he ducked his head. "It's a good spot," he said. "Quiet, isolated. Mostly hidden, so long as we keep our voices down. I've had this one as my main camp for a good year now."

"A year?" she repeated, and moved to sit cross legged. Her eyes swept from one end of the inlet to the other. "It doesn't look like a place you could stay in that long."

He shrugged. "We follow the food."

"Huh?"

He jut his chin to his brother. "The deer, the boars, all of them have a pattern that follows the seasons. We simply follow it."

Her brow furrowed. "But you're still here?"

He nodded. "Those are just temporary shelters, ones I can make in a hurry or can carry on my back. But we have a few places like this set, just to store our things. Sometimes the other places get discovered, and I have to abandon that camp. This one kinda stuck, though."

"Oh," she said, and blinked. "But you like it here, then?"

He pressed his lips together, sweeping over her form. He met her eye, and finally nodded. "Yeah," he finally said. "I like it here."

She leaned her chin on folded hands, green eyes set on him from across the way. She flashed a quick show of teeth, neatly aligned and white, before she hid under her curls. "I like it, too."

He swallowed and looked away sharply. He felt his stomach dip, a scatter of flight inside him before he couldn't help a wide smile. "I'm glad."

* * *

It still got cold during the night, so sudden it would wake her from sleep if he was too far away. He said it was an issue near the creek during the middle of Spring, would temper off in the coming months as it melted to Summer. For now, they had an unspoken agreement that they would share their bed space, tucking into each other wordlessly each night after they ate dinner.

She studied him as she struggled to get to sleep, turning from inside the capture of his arm to examine his face in repose. He went to sleep easily, barely needing to turn on the hard ground before he drifted off. He could come awake just as easily, but she envied his ability to rest anywhere without issue.

She used to read when insomnia got bad, at least she used to back at the homes. That worked some days here, when the moon was bright enough and the fog dissipated. The energy buzzed when the moon was fuller, the air so thick with whatever it was that she could almost touch it.

When those things didn't occur, though, she needed to find other outlets. With few things left, she would study her companion's face.

She liked his face, liked familiarizing herself with it. But this was the conclusion she came up with tonight: she liked his smile.

Wide and bright and instinctual, it was a rare thing to catch on him. It made his whole face light up, the bare catch of dimples on his cheeks both youthful and beautiful.

Usually, he hid any mirth under his daily tasks or a change in subject. Or, if he allowed it, it would show as a quirk of the lips, barely touching the rest of his features. His true smile was a thing of wonder. She decided then and there that she would do what she could to coax it out, to facilitate the stunning event.

The first time she saw it made her heart flutter before she could stop it. The second time, the time she knew that she wasn't about to leave him forever, made it worse.

She admitted to herself, barely before tucking it down, that she was getting attached.

She reached up, hovering a finger above his eyebrows, his nose, his cheek. She didn't dare touch him, quite aware of how lightly he slept. But she took the time to memorize each piece, to comfort herself in the familiarity.

Why did she want to see him that way? When she though he was at his most handsome, his most content? Why did she want to be the one to draw it from him?

Maybe "getting attached" wasn't the right words.

But it was all she could admit to at the moment.

Her heart swelled when he moved in sleep, tucking her closer and resting his cheek on the crown of her head. He smelled of greenery and campfire, and she inhaled deeply. Her eyes grew heavy and she rolled again, bringing his arm closer around her waist.

She pushed into him, creating no space between them, and slowly drifted off.

It was safe to say she was used to this.

* * *

He barely noticed as the end of the month approached again until he caught sight of a group of hunters as he came back with new meat.

He rushed behind a tree, heart thundering as the crowd stomped boisterously through the forest. They seemed just as dirty, loud, and incompetent as the other times he'd seen them, but their presence sent a bolt of fear despite the fact.

The still could harm his family, very easily.

He glanced toward the entrance to the inlet camp, where his brother and Emma would be waiting. He needed to get to them and get them moving, in the opposite pattern of the group.

He snuck into the brush once a few beats passed, panic widening his eyes and narrowing his focus to Emma and his brother. She noticed his alarm immediately, rising to her feet and dropping a book to the ground.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice hushed instinctually.

He indicated the entrance with his eyes, and then slung his bag over his arm next to the quiver and bow already there. "Only what you need," he said seriously.

She nodded and grabbed the bag he taught her to make a week ago. He caught the fear in her eyes, but she was efficient. "Med supplies?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Hopefully not," he muttered.

His brother was absolutely silent and ran around Emma's legs once before rushing to his side.

He pointed to the covering of trees. "Quickly," he whispered.

She gave no protest, and was at his side in seconds. Her face was scrunched up in determination, and his lips trembled up to see it. She watched as his brother forged ahead, snaking his way through the bushes to scamper ahead. "He'll be okay?"

He nodded and took her hand in his. "He has his own hideaway. He'll join us later. Come."

She nodded and squeezed his hand as she jumped ahead, pulling him along.

When they had gone far enough in the opposite direction, he stopped them, listening hard.

"It's them, right? They're back?" she asked, panting heavily as she tried to keep her voice at a whisper. Her eyes were wide, scanning the direction they'd come from.

He entwined their fingers and swallowed. "Yes."

She closed her eyes and gave one firm nod. "Why did we have to leave? Wouldn't they follow the herd?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I know their migration patterns, but these stupid humans do not. They'd rather trample over the entire area and come back empty handed than listen to what common sense tells them," he spits out.

She nudged into him, and he relaxed at the prompting. He didn't even realize how tense he'd gotten. "What will we do, then?"

He shook his head. "They won't find the entrance so long as we aren't there. They'll clear out of the immediate area in a day or so."

She nodded. "Okay. Doable," she murmured.

He reached to the knife at his belt, rubbing the handle as he watched her, finding the sharp bit of fear and protectiveness bleed over once more. "I'll keep you safe."

She blinked and tried to smile at him, strained and scared but willing to believe.

He realized in a second how much it felt like she was his family.

He shivered uncontrollably and turned away. No, that wasn't right. No human could be his family, not after what he's gone through.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye, finding her piecing through their supplies.

Not a chance.

He'd just ignore the feeling in his chest.

* * *

After spending the night in a quick shelter he'd made on the fly, he'd led them to town to bring the steer he'd managed to pack most of to sell.

He was quick to trade, coins jingling in his hand as he led her to the food stands.

She was in a newer dress, one she'd actually bought with him at a village a few miles back. It had come with a corset, one nice enough to allow the cheaper dress to make her look less poor on their outings. She just liked that it made four outfits out of the two. And she also liked that it made his eyes drift down whenever he forgot himself.

They'd head back to camp that evening, he'd said, and she was eager to return. She liked the inlet. She liked the fire pit, the books, the creek. It was familiar and easy, and she felt safe there.

The food was strange, she decided. Barely anything was familiar, apart from the glowing red apples and the appearance of meat. Flavors were blended in alien forms. She peered up at him curiously as she bit into her skewer. She was relieved to see his face screwed up in mirrored confusion as he ate.

"I don't eat out here much," he said softly when he noticed her staring.

She ducked her head slightly, embarrassed to be caught. "Sorry. Guess you prefer to get your own meats, right?"

He gave a half shrug, using a hand at her elbow to guide her gently to the stalls further down. "With those men, we couldn't have managed on what I find alone. We had to come to town and get the surplus food if we were going to survive any longer. I've done it before, it's just …."

He trailed off, and he looked embarrassed. He scratched his ear, eyes darting away nervously. "What?" she pressed.

He grimaced and ate another bite of his meat, still avoiding her gaze. "It's the more expensive kind," he mumbled.

"Oh," she said simply, looking down at the stick. It was definitely spiced more intensely than anything she'd eaten in the last few weeks. It was good, if strange, and she found a flick of regret in her gut. "I'm sorry we had to waste your money on it."

"No," he said, shortly, gruffly. He sighed and kicked at the dirt. "I wanted you to have something better."

She blinked, hard. She swallowed slightly, and ducked her head a little. Shyly, she nudged into him. "Thank you."

He was silent a long moment. "You're welcome."

She grinned to herself as she looked through the next stand, books piled high along the cart. She looked at every book cart they passed, though it was becoming more and more perfunctory over the weeks. Her hope that she'd find something to send her home became a little less each time. Her fingers tripped along spines, scrolling through unfamiliar title after unfamiliar title. Misthaven Rulers. Candlemaking. … Portals .… "Oh! Names," she said, presenting the book to her companion with a bright grin. "I might finally find something to call you."

He rolled his eyes, silent as he continued to eat.

She turned and gave a stiff, unsure smile to the man who owned the stand. Some of the vendors didn't like her browsing, as she'd learned the first time, but others didn't mind much. Or, at least, they didn't mind until they noticed her companion. But this vendor only watched with dark, reptilian eyes but didn't insist on her paying. She didn't like the look he was giving her, so she quickly flipped through the pages.

Her thumb rested beside a name, and her breath hitched. She looked up at her wolf boy, his brow arched in plain question.

She shut the book with a snap and gave a guileless smile. "Nothing."

"Are you sure of that, dearie?"

She turned to the man and shoved the book back on its stack. "Certain," she replied crisply.

The boy grabbed her arm, steering her away. She followed easily, giving a glare to the shop owner once more before refocusing on her friend. "You sounded very sure," he said, and there was something slightly teasing to his voice.

She felt a blush creep over her neck, remembering the solid definition beside the name, the one that struck such a chord in her that it didn't make sense. "Probably not," she said. "Probably too much."

His brows quirked. "Too much?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. Too much."

Because she shouldn't look at this boy who lived with wolves and believed in magic and bought her food and protected her from strangers, and think that _home_ was the best way to describe him.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

* * *

 _ **Present**_

* * *

The next day felt strange.

She wasn't used to this kind of town. The small kind, the one where things don't change and everything stays the same. She sticks out in a town like this. It's why she prefers the big cities she can disappear into.

And of course, she now had the added spotlight of being the birth mother to the mayor's kid. After the strained yet honest conversation with the sheriff yesterday, she knew that the town must have a keen eye on the boy.

She glanced out the window, noting the morning bustle. A brown and tan vehicle affixed with telltale lights atop drove to the parking lot just beside the diner, and her spine straightened. She had a plan, after all. If she was going to feel comfortable in this town, she was going to have to spend more time with the man.

And learn to ignore the sharp mix of familiarity and desire that pricked her each time their eyes met.

A knock sounded on her door, and she jolted in surprise. She crossed to the door and opened it, expecting blue eyes but meeting dark ones and a fangy smile.

"Did you know the Honeycrisp tree is the most vigorous and hearty of all apple trees?" she says abruptly. Her voice is unnatural in its attempt at pleasantry, stilted and coarse. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes, calculating and sharp. "It can survive temperatures as low as forty below and keep growing. It can weather any storm. I have one that I've tended to since I was a little girl. And to this day, I have yet to taste anything more delicious than the fruit it offers."

The mayor holds out a bright, shiny red apple and she stares at it suspiciously. The monologue wasn't exactly what she was expecting. "Thanks," she said warily as she took it in hand.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy them on your drive home."

Emma barely kept the knowing smirk from her face. Ah, that's what this was about. "Actually," she said with a sneer. "I'm going to stay for a while."

Regina's chin raised, eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea. Henry has enough issues. He doesn't need you confusing him."

Her brow raised and her shoulders squared, though she put on an unassuming smile. "All due respect, Madam Mayor, the fact that you have now threatened me twice in the last twelve hours makes me want to stay _more_."

"Since when were apples a threat?" she asked, brow arching.

She barely kept from rolling her eyes. "I can read between the lines," she muttered. She planted her feet and tried not to glare at the woman. "Sorry. I just want to make sure Henry's okay."

Regina pursed her lips. "He's fine, dear. Any problems he has are being taken care of."

Emma looked at her suspiciously, dread prickling her spine. "What does that mean?"

Regina leaned forward. "It means I have him in therapy. It's all under control. Take my advice, Miss Swan. Only one of us knows what's best for Henry."

She thought about the sheriff's resigned gaze, the 'I don't think she can.' Sure, _she_ knows what's best. "Yeah, I'm starting to think you're right about that," Emma replied coolly.

Regina glanced off as if to verify the empty hallway before she glared back at her. "It's time for you to go."

Emma huffed. "Or what?"

She glowered at her. "Don't underestimate me, Miss Swan. You have no idea what I'm capable of." She flicked her hair back and strode down the hallway after the blatant threat, taking the rest of the fruit with her.

"What the hell does the woman have about apples?" Emma muttered and set it down by the nightstand. She grabbed her jeans off the chair by the dresser and yanked them on. She needed to get out of this room if she was going to make any progress.

By the time she got down to the counter at the little diner the bed and breakfast was attached to, it was fairly busy. She had seen from the corner of her eye the man in the window booth, but was ignoring his presence for now. She needed to wait to have coffee in her system before she could begin. She needed that armor before speaking to him.

A local paper was on the counter, so she grabbed it to glance through as the waitress made her way to her. She sighed at the mugshot on the front. "Seriously?" she muttered.

"I'm sure you're usually photogenic."

She didn't even have to glance up. She didn't even have to hear his voice. She could feel his presence appear at her side. "Yeah, usually," she replied with a sigh.

"Mugshots are always a little stark," he said somewhat apologetically, and moved to sit next to her.

She peeked up at him and swallowed. So much for being caffeinated. "Is that speaking from experience?" she challenged.

A slow smile crossed his face, dimples apparent behind the scruff of his beard. "Well, I do tend to take them, Miss Swan."

She couldn't help smiling, her head ducking as she tried to cover it. He was so damn disarming. He caught her off-guard in a way that was both off-putting and alluring, and god help her she wanted more of it. She folded the paper a couple times over and flung it to the side. "Did you come here for the coffee, or was there another reason for your visit?" she asked bluntly.

He raised a brow, but took a long sip from his mug. "This is an everyday occurrence, being here," he said, his accent light and plucky. "But yes, I suppose I could check in on you while I'm here. See what your plans are."

She opened her mouth to answer something about not needing to clear any plans with him, when a mug was slid across the booth by the smiling waitress.

"I think you have an admirer," the brunette said with an air of teasing, and then rested her chin on her palm as she looked between the two conspiratorially.

Emma glanced down to avoid her gaze and the idea that the instant connection and familiarity with this man might be noticed by others. She noted the swirl of whipped cream dusted with cinnamon, the smell of chocolate and spice tempting. She smirked. "Thank you, but I did not order that," she said, and then flicked her hair back to look at him accusingly. "Though I'm impressed you guessed that I liked cinnamon on my chocolate."

He looked amused, his dark blue eyes twinkling. "I didn't send it."

"I did," a voice chirped from a booth a couple feet down. A dark head popped up, grinning merrily. The kid. "I like cinnamon, too."

She felt herself soften as she saw him. He sounded so cautious, but his eyes were bright and his shoulders straight as he craned his neck up to better look at her, a wide, mischievous smile on his face. She could bet that she could set her younger self down next to him and find that exact expression.

Graham turned, facing the boy with a challenging look. "Henry. Aren't you supposed to be at school?"

The flare of something both envious and wistful jumped in her chest. He sounded so fatherly, stern but still soft. She needed to facilitate this, needed to have them close enough to insulate the kid from whatever indifference his mother stalked over him.

"Duh," Henry said indelicately. He jumped out of the booth and adjusted the backpack on his shoulders, a smug grin crossing his face. That one wasn't her, wasn't Neal … why was it familiar? He locked eyes with her, the green bright in the fluorescence of the diner. "Walk me," he demanded.

Graham turned to her, his face wholly amused. "You should do that," he said simply, a grin half hidden by his cup.

She bit her lip, a memory almost on the back of her mind. "Maybe you should join," she said. If she was to implement this, best to start now.

He hesitated, obviously not used to being invited to be with the kid. "Wouldn't impose. You two should go," he said.

Henry approached them, swiping a strand of messy hair back. He looked cautious, and gripped the straps a little before he nodded. "No, it's okay. Come with us, Sheriff."

He still seemed cautious, even as he rose to his feet. He buried his hands in his pockets and gave an uncomfortable smile before shrugging one shoulder. "I guess you could use a police escort."

She rolled her eyes at him and placed a hand on Henry's shoulder, guiding him to the door. The kid beamed up at her, light in his steps. She stuck her hand in her pocket and retrieved the lone apple, tossing it back and forth nervously.

Once on the street, headed for the school, she sighed. "So, what's the deal with you and your mom?" she asked bluntly. Maybe she could catch the kid off guard, get him to reveal something.

She noticed the sheriff's side-long glance, but ignored it for now.

Henry turned suspiciously back to them but shook his head. "It's about not us. I told you, it's the other thing," he said.

"What other thing, Henry?" Graham asked softly. His hands were making tight fists at his side, the only reaction to what they were saying.

Henry stopped abruptly and turned to them both. His eyes narrowed on them and his head tilted. "Can I trust you, Sheriff?"

The man smiled, crossing his arms over his chest. "I would hope so, Henry," he replied.

Henry hesitated, glancing up to Emma once before refocusing on him. "You won't say anything to my mom?"

Graham hesitated, but finally took one finger to make an "x" over his heart.

Henry slumped in relief and turned once more, walking towards the school again. "It's the curse," he said, then slowed his pace enough to fit right between the both of them. He linked their arms conspiratorially and craned his neck up. "She cast a terrible curse on all of you, making you forget who you are. Emma's the only one that can break it."

Emma felt a little bit strange linked so close with the boy, but it was worse with the Sheriff attached to the other side. Her heart stuttered for a second when she realized how they must look, all together. She shook the notion off and forced a smile. "Everyone in the town is a fairytale character, you see, they just don't know it," she explained.

"Yep! And time's been frozen - until Emma came back."

"Oh?" Graham said, and an eyebrow cocked. "Who am I then, Henry?"

He hummed as he thought, but shook his head. "I haven't figured you out yet. But my mom's the Evil Queen. And Archie? He's Jiminy Cricket. Ruby is Red, a werewolf. And then there's Mary Marg-"

"Where do you get these things, kid?" she mumbled under her breath.

He sighed in exasperation. "I _told_ you, the book. You'd know if you just read it."

"Should I read it?" Graham asked.

He looked thoughtfully. "Maybe. But Emma's the one to break it, so she needs to first."

"Sounds complicated," Graham said, just the barest hint of amusement in his tone.

"Luckily, I have a plan. Step one – identification. I call it Operation Cobra."

"Cobra?" Emma asked. "That has nothing to do with fairy tales."

Henry nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. It's a code name to throw the Queen off the trail."

Emma felt herself getting uncomfortable and dug around her pockets for something to do. She found the apple and brought it to her mouth.

"Hey!"

Emma paused, looking down at the kid.

"Where did you get that?"

Emma traded a glance with Graham and then shrugged a shoulder. "Your mom."

He snatched it from her. "Don't eat that!" He tossed it over his shoulder, where it landed on the street with a soft thud.

"Oh, uh – all right."

"Evil Queen, huh?" Graham murmured. "Like in Snow White?"

"Exactly! See, Emma, he gets it!" Henry exclaimed.

"Okay," Emma said. She looked up to find the sheriff's blue eyes again, and decided to try a little reason. "What about their past, then?"

"They don't know," Henry said somberly. He looked up to the sheriff sympathetically. "It's a haze to them. Ask anyone anything, you'll see."

She's about to laugh it off above the kid's head with the man, but froze once she saw his expression. His gaze was distant, fogged, and he cleared his throat before turning his head away. She felt a nervous dip in her stomach. "So, for decades, people have been walking around in a haze, not aging, with screwed up memories, stuck in a cursed town that kept them oblivious," she said, trying to piece through his beliefs.

Henry grinned. "I knew you'd get it. That's why we need you. You're the only one who can stop her curse."

Emma grimaced and stopped, turning to the kid. "Because I'm the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming?" she said dubiously.

Graham glanced up at her from behind Henry, and he smirked. "Is she, then?" he asked, and some of the playfulness is back. "A fairytale princess?"

Henry nods. "Exactly. She's the one destined to break the curse, the only one who didn't go through it back in the other world."

Graham nodded seriously, then looked up at her. "Explains her shy, delicate sensibilities."

She scoffed.

Henry shook his head, but kept his smile. "Right now, we have the advantage. My mom doesn't know all this."

Graham placed a hand on Henry's shoulder, tilting his head to look down at him. "If she's the Evil Queen, wouldn't she know?" he asked.

Henry shook his head vigorously. "I took out the end. The part with Emma in it." He reached into his bag and pivoted to her, thrusting the pages out triumphantly. "See? Your mom is Snow White."

She glanced at the page Henry provided. A blond man crouched in front of a tree or something, blood staining the middle of his white shirt. He held out an infant tucked into a blanket, "Emma" across the side of it. She thought of her own blanket, the purple stitching that scrawled her name, but the cartoonish drawing was a long way from it. Pretty interesting coincidence, though. "Okay …."

"That's Prince Charming holding you," Henry explained.

"Kid …," she said, haltingly, hesitantly. She didn't know how to redirect him, and she glanced a little helplessly at the other adult.

"It's okay," Henry said quietly. "I know the hero never believes at first. If they did, it wouldn't be a very good story."

She realized in that second how lonely the kid must be, if he believed everyone was in a fog. She needed to muster up something, some semblance of reassurance for the kid.

But it was Graham who rested a hand on the boy's head, getting his attention. Henry turned to face him. "How long did it take for you to believe?" he asked gently.

Henry made a face, then his brow furrowed. "Something always felt wrong. With the town, with her. But when I got the book, it all made sense."

Graham kneeled in front of him, brushing his hair back. In a split second, she could read the loneliness on his face as well. It was all too familiar. "You need to believe something, don't you, Henry?" he said tenderly, his soft eyes sad.

She blinked, staring at the kid and the man together. Her heart seized at the image. Internally, she shook herself out of it. The two spent time together, it was only natural they'd pick up some mannerisms, making them look alike.

Henry blew out a breath, and finally faced Emma again. "If you need proof, take them. Read them. But whatever you do, don't let her see these pages. They're dangerous. If she finds out who you are, then it would be bad."

She took the pages, making sure her hand didn't shake. She gave a grimace more than a smile, but Henry lightened to see it.

He turned to check across the street, seeing the milling of kids behind the gates. "I got to go. But I'll find you later and we can get started. Sheriff … do you wanna help?"

"Of course, little prince," Graham said.

Henry grinned widely.

Emma's shoulders squared, realizing that she was already making progress with the two. She could push this, nudge it more like. Now that Henry allowed Graham into this little group, this Operation Cobra, it would be easy. She could facilitate it, make sure that the two bonded and made a connection that could last. The kid could have someone he trusted, could learn to better deal with his mother when there was someone on his side. It would make it easier when she left in two weeks. Her hand curled around the pages, her smile growing.

Henry walked across the street, and then flipped back to catch her eye. "I knew you'd believe me!"

Emma opened her mouth, then hesitated. Affection bloomed in her heart, and she tried desperately to stamp it down. Finally she shook her head. "I never said that!"

His smile grew smug, and he walked around a woman with cropped hair. "Why else would you stay?"

Emma turned to Graham, finding him hiding a smile of his own. He reached back and scratched the back of his neck. He looked younger, carefree. Certainly not the glimpse of what she saw behind the façade a moment ago. "You look happy with yourself," she accused.

"The lad doesn't understand that there _is_ another reason. Other than Operation Cobra, and certainly other than the cocoa in this town," he answered, smiling at her.

She pressed her lips together. "Maybe not the reason you think," she countered, but glanced toward the school and felt her heart wrench. _You can't get close_ , she reminded herself.

His hand hovered close but didn't quite touch hers. "I told you – it's a good thing, I think."

She could feel the part of her that could get lost in him slip, and carefully pulled back.

"It's good to see his smile back."

She turned to the new voice, Henry's teacher, the one with the credit card. She was a welcome distraction. She shrugged at her implication, though. "I didn't do anything."

Mary Margaret's head tilted, and she shared a knowing glance with Graham before smiling warmly at her. "You stayed."

She wanted to roll her eyes when she caught the grin the Sheriff was sporting now, but only crossed her arms. She felt uncomfortable enough was all this attention, and these two insisting that Henry might benefit from her presence was disconcerting.

"So, does the Mayor know you're still here?" Mary Margaret asked politely.

Emma did roll her eyes at that. "Yeah, she knows. What is her deal? She's not a great people person. How did she get elected?" she asked, directing it to them both.

Mary Margaret gave a sympathetic nod at that. "She's been mayor for as long as I can remember. No one's ever been brave enough to run against her. She inspires quite a bit of, well, fear."

She turned to Graham to see his opinion on that, but he was staring at the ground, hands shoved in his pockets as he frowned. Maybe there was something she was missing.

Mary Margaret shrugged. "I'm afraid I only made that worse by giving Henry that book. Now he thinks she's the Evil Queen."

"Did he say who he thinks you are?" Emma asked curiously.

She looked embarrassed, giving the answer away immediately. "It's silly," she said.

Graham shifted. "Ah, then you did get assigned. He didn't have one for me quite yet," he said.

Mary Margaret laughed under her breath. "Oh, you just give it time."

Emma shook her head. "I just got five minutes of silly, believe me, lady. Lay it on me."

She tucked into herself, blush rising in her cheeks at the same time as her shoulders shrugged up awkwardly. "Snow White."

Emma's mouth parted as realization struck over her. Henry thought his teacher was her _mom_? His _grandmother_? She looked the teacher over, still unable to find a coherent sentence. This was _too much_.

And dammit, Graham knew, too. She looked to him, finding him just as startled.

"Who does he think you are?" Mary Margaret asked.

Emma looked her over, and cursed over the fact that there was enough similar in this woman to support a poor kid's fantasy. Well, this just got complicated. She shook her head. "I'm not in the book," she said.

She could feel Graham's stare at that, and she gripped the pages in her hand a little more. She wasn't. At least, not according to Henry, once he ripped those pages out.

"I should let you go," Emma said, still a little shaken.

Mary Margaret smiled, and nodded to Graham before following her students into the building.

"Maybe I need to talk to his therapist," Emma said, rubbing her hands together to warm them. She felt so cold all of a sudden.

Graham nodded. "Could be an idea. His name is Archibald Hopper. He's just off the road a ways."

She nodded and blinked hard. At least he wasn't teasing about the schoolteacher being her mother. "Okay. Some answers, good."

"Perhaps I should come?" he asked.

She looked up, those stunningly soft blue eyes set on her. Slowly, she shook her head. "No. Thanks," she said, and furrowed her brow. She needed some time to catch her breath anyway. "This one I need to do myself."

If she needed to fight to get this kid happy, she was going to do it.

* * *

 _ **Eleven Years Ago**_

* * *

"I know how to fight."

He looked up at her, amusement clear in his soft blue eyes. "Of that, I'm sure," he said, but tossed her the stick anyway.

Indelicately, she fumbled with it, dropping it almost immediately. She huffed and looked back up with a feigned glare. "Maybe not with _swords_ , but those aren't so common where I'm from."

He shrugged. "Perhaps it's your perspective that's off. It was meant to look like a blade, but not a sword," he teased.

Her lips pursed. They were at the inlet, spending the clear day just hanging around their camp. She had gotten used to him teaching her things here and there, an old request taking shape easily. This, however, was new. She wiped her hands over her jeans and then grabbed it up again. "So, you want me to pretend it's a Swiss army knife or something?"

This time, he didn't even manage to look baffled at what she generally knew to be an anachronism. "Or something," he echoed, and flipped his own in hand.

She lunged forward before he could, a giggle escaping as he twisted away, missing him by inches. He darted away as she slashed out carelessly, grinning widely as he did. There was a lightness to his movements, something she'd noticed long before but took the chance to admire now.

She made a few more quick jabs, ones he easily deflected. She could hold her own at the homes she'd been in, but she had made it a preference to run before fighting, and this all was more in jest than serious instruction. Initiating the attacks felt a little unnatural nonetheless, but she soon came to anticipate his movements.

Finally she flipped the branch around and caught his forearm. His eyes snapped to hers in surprise, and his smile turned playfully feral.

He yanked an arm around her waist, dragging her close with the broken branch pressed against her back. His eyes were practically twinkling. "You should be quicker than that."

She tried to sweep her leg to pull his out from under him, but he pitched forward instead of back. It sent them both to the ground. She let out a small squeak at the unintended fall, but he caught her before her head could topple against the dirt. They both got covered in it as the dust settled around them, wide eyes on each other.

She took a second before peals of laughter escaped her, and soon she found the answering rumble from deep inside his chest. He looked his age with the mirth in his eyes, curls tousled and sun outlining his features and again she was struck by how handsome he was. Still smiling widely, she shifted up to her elbows, pushing herself into his space. She hovered there, beats passing as they sobered.

His eyes changed as he seemed to notice how close they were. She felt his hands tighten around her hips, and a rush of _something_ encompassed her. She felt flush, warm, slightly dizzy with it. His eyes, they were not their usual grey-blue, deep and mysterious. Instead, the pupils had blown wide across his irises, making them darker than she'd ever seen. His breath was hot against her lips. Her breathing was suddenly shallow and heavy, and just a centimeter closer would mean _everything_.

They had been close before, when opening eyes in early morning to find the other's far too close. When there was a certain heat involved when accidentally brushing fingers as they passed food to one another. But this time they did not part just as quickly as they got into that state, did not jump away.

"What are you doing?" she asked, even though she was the one to come closer. She almost didn't recognize her own voice. She sounded winded, her tongue practically caressing the syllables into a seductive tone she was sure she didn't actually mean.

His eyes flicked down her body before resting once more on hers. A fractional incline of his head almost went unnoticed, his nose barely touching hers. "I d'nno." The callous of his fingers rode up along her skin, where it was exposed as the cloth of her straggly tee bunched up. The slight brush left a trail of stung nerves, hyperaware. But he stopped, lingering in her space and halting all movement save the bounce of his pupils to take her in.

His hesitance proved he _really_ didn't know. But Emma, she'd seen the movies, the tv shows, had peeked in on the older kids, had awkward moments with others. She knew what came next. Without further prompting, she bridged the distance, brushing her lips against his, feather-light, experimental.

He drew in a ragged breath, and his head lolled down. Teeth scraped her neck just barely, before he nudged his forehead along her hairline. "I—" he began, but then his lips come back to meet hers, and the words were lost.

She sighed at the contact. The kiss was somewhere between tentative and demanding, a testament to both inexperience and sheer desire.

With the miniscule amount of experience she had, she guided him into deepening the kiss. She coaxed his mouth open, brushing her tongue against his. He responded easily, only a step behind in matching her movements and then taking the initiative to explore. They matched each other's actions, mirroring, until she felt like they were drinking each other in. It was … heady.

She broke only briefly to suck in a deep breath, and he still sought her skin with his lips. Her nails dug into his shoulders, pressing him all the closer. One of his hands carded through her hair, the other smoothed against her bare spine to press her harder against his chest.

She thought back to the Gracey home, to Tyler, and didn't understand how she could have possibly ever called _that_ kissing.

 _This_ was kissing. This was intimate, warm, with an unchecked desire that thrummed with power. Somewhere teetering between balanced and uncontrolled, unfamiliar yet with a brush of rightness.

Excitement tingled down her, coupled with a heat that made her want _something_. She couldn't stop touching him, and her own hands slipped under his shirt and over hard muscle, kissing and nipping at his lips as he did the same. She bent her knee, using the leverage to push herself into him and he pulled in tandem, their bodies lining up in a way that made her lightheaded.

Suddenly he stopped with his face inches from hers, blinking hard. Quickly, he extracted himself from her, shock touching his stature. Cold washed against her, eyes widening at the sudden loss of his warmth. She licked her lips, still panting as her heart raced. "Wh-what?"

His mouth was parted, breaths short and ragged. He shook his head, a brief flash of disappointment in his gaze as he licked his lips. "Footsteps," he said simply.

She sucked in a sharp breath and pulled down the hem of her shirt; it had ridden up well past the edge of her rib cage. She listened, not yet able to hear the telltale crunching. "How far?"

He was still. "Two minutes," he said surely. He grabbed her hand and helped her stand. His face was still flushed, eyes still dark as he looked at her. He reached out, running his thumb across her bottom lip before he shook his head, clearing it. "We have to go."

She nodded, and bent to collect their things by the trees.

There was something heavier this time as his hand reached for hers, as the longing clicked inside her when theirs palms met. She tried desperately to ignore it again as he guided them away, carefully and gracefully dodging trees and brush as he led them to their secondary camp.

Her heart thundered in her chest, and she knew she couldn't be sure that their routine would be the same once they reached it.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

* * *

 _ **Present**_

* * *

He glanced at the rearview mirror a quick moment before looking back at the road, hands tightening along the steering wheel.

She was slumped against the window, eyes fixed toward the passing storefronts. Her hands were cuffed and clasped in her lap. She was still in only her singlet, black bra peeking through the white, but utterly in control of herself. Her face looked fresh and clean, her blonde curls effortless and soft in the beam of sun that cast through the clouds. She somehow looked more put together than she had in the passenger seat yesterday, even with irritation brewing somewhere behind her stoic expression.

He knew already that she didn't look like she'd been in any sort of tussle with Archie.

Not that Archie's statement had held any true conviction, anyway.

He sighed as he flipped his blinker on, the sharp clicking and blowing heater loud in the silence. "You'll be free to give your own account, you know," he said.

She snorted indelicately. "Yeah?"

He raised his eyes again to meet hers in the mirror. "I might even listen," he teased, matching the tone they'd had back at Granny's.

She smirked and tried to fold her arms, the clink of the metal jangling as she did. "Is that so, Sheriff?" she replied.

He felt it again, the hint of flirting within the banter, along with the shiver of familiarity. He nodded and brought a hand to smooth over the scruff at his chin. "Certainly. Though you might want a more well-rounded story than the one you spun over at Granny's."

She huffed a sigh and closed her eyes, wall bricking right back up. "Would you even believe me?" she muttered.

 _Yes_. The answer, automatic, came to him. Yes, he'd believe her. He'd believed her even before he'd knocked on the room at Granny's.

But there was also something else, something brewing underneath that forced his hand and step. It was the something that made him need to place those cuffs on her ( _though it was not supposed to be that delicate, now was it? He wasn't supposed to touch her that much, not supposed to linger on her skin so the metal wouldn't bite into her_ ). It was something that made him need to pull her into the back of the cruiser even though there were people on the sidewalk watching and making a spectacle of it all.

Like a buzz, ringing through him, he still knew he needed to bring her into the station and follow procedure, even though Archie hadn't formally pressed charges yet.

But maybe the insistence was easier to follow because he _wanted_ to be around her.

He pulled into his space and turned off the ignition. He turned to face her, eyes flicking over her face a moment before he shrugged a shoulder. "I'd be willing to try," he said instead of the ready answer.

Her eyes popped open, meeting his unflinchingly. She stared a beat and then raised her arms up and jangled the cuffs. "Then get me out of these."

He felt a smile cover his face, then he stepped out of the cruiser and made his way to the back. He opened the door and took her hand instead of the chain as was proper. "In a minute. You might be easier to catch this way."

She pressed her lips together and raised a brow in challenge. "Why do I think that's an _excuse_ , Sheriff?" she said.

He tugged on her hand, and she stumbled forward, hip bumping into his before she steadied. His lips rose up and he shook his head. "Standard procedure."

Her eyes were darker, and she was stifling a smile behind a stern look. "Sure."

He leaned back, eyebrows quirking up. "Honestly. Next is fingerprinting, but I think we did that once before," he said pleasantly.

She rolled her eyes and matched his pace to step into the warm station. "Which means I get another round of mugshots this time, too?"

"See, you know your stuff," he said and pushed her gently in the direction of the wall.

She huffed and stood straight to camera, and he remembered the background file he'd pulled on her last night. She _did_ know the drill. He wondered how she ever got involved in stealing watches in the first place. She tensed as he pulled the film into the camera. "You know the shrink is lying, right?"

He clicked the picture and she flinched at the flash. He pointed. "To the right, please," he said, stalling. He was more curious to see if she might know a reason he didn't. "Why would he lie?"

She frowned. "The Mayor put him up to this," she said certainly. She shook her head. "She's got to have something on him. He's terrified of her like everyone else in this …," she gestured a little helpless as she fumbled for a word. "town."

He snapped another photo and indicated again. "To the left." He pulled out the photo and grimaced. Regina … Regina was tricky. He hoped she wasn't involved, if only because of how that complicated the matter – with Emma, with Henry, with him. But deep down he knew she was behind this. Archie wouldn't lie for himself. "I don't think she'd go as far as a frame job," he finally answered, less than assuredly.

He could practically see the wheels turning in her head. "How far _would_ she go?" she asked plainly. "What does she have her hands in?"

He tried to cover a wince, bile bubbling at the thought. He popped his gaze to meet her. "Well, she's the Mayor. She has her hands in everything."

She raised a brow and looked at him pointedly, a haughty smile crossing her face. "Including the police force?"

His chin lowered and he tried to give her a disapproving look, even as his stomach bottomed out. He thought about the hate in her voice, the demands in her texts, the _cold, numb emptiness_. He was still fumbling for some retort when the front door slammed open.

Henry tore into the station, Mary Margaret on his heels, nervously crossing an arm around herself as she smiled thinly. "Hey!" he exclaimed as he skid to a stop in front of them.

"Henry!" he exclaimed, and looked at him a little desperately. Seeing the woman he admired so much in cuffs was not an image he wanted to impart on him. "Henry, what are you doing here?"

Mary Margaret was the one to answer, exasperation and weariness in her tone. "His mother told him what happened."

Emma grit her teeth so hard he could practically hear it. "Of _course_ she did." She met his eye, the flame of 'told you so' clear in them. She then turned to the lad. "Henry, I don't know what she said—"

Henry beamed and stopped her. "You're a _genius_."

She paused. "What?"

He grinned back up at her and then looked up at him conspiratorially. "I know what you were up to." He leaned in between them and glanced back and forth quickly before whispering, "You were gathering intel. For Operation Cobra."

"For what?" Mary Margaret questioned from behind them.

Henry straightened with a guileless smile. "The book, Ms. Blanchard. That's the code."

She blinked, and then looked at him with some amusement. "Oh. Makes sense."

Henry turned back to him with a grin. "I know you had to keep up appearances, Sheriff, but you don't have to worry any more. Ms. Blanchard's gonna bail her out."

Emma froze and looked up at the teacher. "You are? Why?"

Henry grinned, and shared a knowing look with him. Graham gave a half smile, remembering the tales he wove. Snow White and her daughter, indeed. But that also brought the boy's other theory back, the idea of hazy memories ( _dry_ _leaves and blonde hair and a single red eye_ ) ….

Mary Margaret, meanwhile, shook a little as she considered, still looking nervous. She gave a small smile. "I, uh, trust you."

Emma spun to him triumphantly. "Well, then, Sheriff. If you'd uncuff me, there's something I need to do."

He rested his hand on her wrist, just barely brushing over her pulse. He looked up at her a long beat before sliding the key into the lock. He traced over her face carefully with his eyes before steading on hers. "Be careful, Miss Swan," he said cautiously, pleadingly.

She smiled widely as the metal fell away. She rolled her fingers over the place he touched and leaned fractionally closer. "I always am."

He watched her nod to the schoolteacher and hesitantly place a hand on Henry's head as she walked out. Henry turned with a wide, beaming smile at him before he disappeared behind the wall.

He couldn't shake the feeling that this would escalate, but had to believe her conviction would be sufficient.

* * *

 ** _Eleven Years Ago_**

* * *

The camp at the rockfall was … sufficient.

It was a dry, stony environment. Sandstone and shale jutted out with raw edges, smoothed by wind alone or broken into sharpened bits. The lack of sunlight gave it all a pale cast, even though the pieces went from pale grey to burnt orange. The wind caught and collected here, whistling through the barren landscape. If the air at the inlet was humid and chilled, this was frigid.

He had stores of furs for the cooler environment, and a quick set up for cooking. There wasn't near the amount of supplies as at the inlet, but there was still enough to help them collect themselves. Certainly not comfortable, but not entirely impossible to rest. He figured if there was enough game in this area, they could easily stay for weeks on end.

He shifted, the contents of the rucksack on his shoulder clanking. A glance up to the sky made him aware that what was sufficient for him and his brother wouldn't be for Emma in just a few hours' time.

"Do you think they found it?" she asked, kicking a stone in her path before settling against one of the overturned boulders.

He shook his head. "Without us around, I rather doubt it. It's pretty hidden." The hunters sought signs of active animal life, not camps. They'd be distracted by the false tracks his brother left, leaving his little sanctuary undiscovered.

"Oh, well … well, good." She pressed her lips together, eyes darting to him and then to her feet. Unconsciously, he trailed his fingers along his own lips before dropping his hand. He could still taste her.

He cleared his throat, trying to forget the intensity of the kiss they shared not an hour ago. "It's going to rain in a couple hours," he said simply.

She looked up, finding the grey clouds in the distance. She stood, swiping her palms across her trousers. "Oh. Um, we should set up a tent or something, right?"

He hesitated and finally shook his head. "No. It'd be fine for me, but without the direct sun it gets too cold here in that weather. Even with the hides I have stored, we wouldn't be sheltered enough. We need to find somewhere else for the night."

She frowned and stepped closer determinedly. "I'm not some weakling, wolf boy, I'm sure I can—"

"It's not that. You're not used to this kind of cold, and the rain's going to be hard. I can feel it," he said shortly.

Her nose wrinkled and her hands curled into fists. "If you can do it, I can," she bit out.

She was so stubborn. Always, unflinchingly. "We can find an inn or something. I still have the extra earnings," he continued. His next camp was too far away by leagues, but the closest village was only a half mile away.

"And what about the wolf, huh?" she countered, hands at her waist defiantly.

His head cocked to the side. The fact that she cared made something pull inside him. He wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and tug her close, but he could only smile. He stepped closer to her. "He can protect himself. He's got his own fur, and I can set up a lean-to against the stone wall. But the hides aren't enough for _two_ people _and_ a wolf. Humor me, okay?"

Her eyes narrowed, and he could see the obstinacy falter. She leaned her body in, green focused on him. She lingered there, lashes flicking up a millisecond behind her eyes. "And you'll come with me?"

Something about the look on her face made him incline his head into her space. He wet his lips, savoring the parts of her lingering in his senses. Their noses touched, and her gaze finally lost the anger. "If I must."

She scowled, but it was without heat. "You'd better."

He wanted to thread his fingers in her hair again, to feel her lips against his own. Would it be welcome? Did she want that feeling again, just like him? He swallowed thickly and stepped back instead. "So we should take what we can carry and get out of here."

She chewed on her lip slightly, eyes smoky. "You said we have a couple hours?"

He looked up at her in surprise. He had never been one to understand subtlety, nor was he great at understanding the cues humans picked up on naturally. But here, with her, the implication was clear. A nervous course of excitement ran down through his stomach, but he shook his head. "We really should go now, so we can be settled before the weather turns," he paused, wiping his palms across his leathers. He chanced another glance at her coyly. "We can … always slow down, y'know, once we find somewhere."

She smiled a little, hiding it away almost immediately as she bent to gather a couple pelts. "Okay. That sounds … okay." Her cheeks were a lovely pink color and it was somewhat comforting that she was as unsure as he was.

They were usually unbalanced, always one running to catch up with the other, but somehow this was more like matching the same pace.

And this was a pace he wanted to explore.


End file.
